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S-AIHSTT ZELATTHj 


One-Price Clothing House. 


A ■ i ■■ i 'T* .HFIT^, U^OS. 

No. 61 EAST THIRD STREET, 

The LARGEST STOCK in the City. 

Boys’ and Children’s Clothing a Specialty . 

ALL GOODS MARKED IN PLAIN FIGURES. 

HATS, GAPS and GENTS’ FURNISHING GOODS. 

Orders by mail promptly attended to. 


-FOTnsrU^JD - - - 1865 . 

THE OLD-ESTABLISHED 



Endorsed by scores of the GREATEST BUSINESS HOUSES of the 
State, and by HUNDREDS OF ITS STUDENTS now in business. 
Shows a LARGER NUMBER and a LARGER PROPORTION of its 
Students in successful business, than any other Institution in the 
Northwest. Send for sixty-page Catalogue, containing full partic- 
ulars and proofs of these statements, sent free. Address 
W . A. FADDIS, Principal, 

Cor. Third and Jackson Streets, 

ST. PAUL, MINN. 


AUERBACH, 

HITCH, CULBERTSON & CO. 

st. jpjl.ttt-1, i&ijstjst. 

Have constantly on hand all the LATEST 
DESIGNS in 

CARPETS, 

DRAPERIES, 

FURNITURE COVERINGS, 

PAPER HANGINGS, 

And all HOUSE FURNISHING GOODS, 

Novelties in Laces, Antiques, Tidies, 
and Japanese Goods. 


WHOLESALE and RETAIL. 
1 


The MINNESOTA CHIEF THRESHER. 



FARMERS AND THRESKERMEN 

This is the Machine you have been looking for; and if you want to 
keep in the front rank of progress, you can’t do without it. It is 
conceded by all who have run the Chief or had threshing done by it, 
that for 

LIGHTNESS OF DRAFT, 

RAPIDITY OF THRESHING, 

PERFECT SEPARATION, 
GRAIN-SAVING, 

THOROUGH CLEANING, 

And all desirable qualities that go to make a perfect Thresher, 

THE CHIEF HAS NO EQUAL. 

If you are thinking of buying a Threshing Outfit, you will always 
be sorry if you buy without first seeing the MINNESOTA CHIEF. 
We can sell you a first-class rig that will do more and better work 
than any you can get elsewhere. We build three varieties of horse- 
powers, all of them first-class, and our line of Farm Engines, either 
coal, wood or straw burning, embraces the very best that are made in 
this country. 

Send for Circular and Price List to 

SEYMORE, SABIN & CO., Manufacturers, 

STILLWATER, MINN. 

2 


CHRISTMAS PRESENTS 


MANNHEIMER BROS. 

No, 7 East Third Street, ST, PAUL, 

Invite attention to an unusually large and attractive assortment of Dry Goods now 
displayed at their establishment, suitable for elegant and useful Holiday Gifts. In 
their 

CLOAK DEPARTMENT 

THEY OFFER 

Fur-Lined Dolmans, $75.00 lo $175.00. 

Fur-Lined Circulars, $100.00 to $150.00. 

Antwerp Silk Dolmans, $50.00 to $75.00. 

Sicilienne Silk Dolmans, $50.00 to $100.00. 

All Wool Diagonal Dolmans, $15.00 to $40.00. 

All AVool Beaver Dolmans, $10.00 to $25.00. 

ALSO, 

SACQUE CLOAKS AND ULSTERS 

For Ladies, Misses and Children; all sizes, 'in newest materials and styles. , Their 

SHAWL DEPARTMENT 

Contains the latest productions of Domestic and Foreign manufacturers, including 
India Camel’s Hair Shawls; India Decca Shawls; Broche and Paisley Shawls; French 
Camel’s Hair Shawls; Plush and Velvet Shawls; Blanket Shawls; Shetland and 
‘Ottoman Shawls, in light tints and white for evening wear. In their 

SILK DEPARTMENT 

They display the largest and finest assortment in the State, consisting of 

Black, and Colored Silks; Black and Colored Satins; Black and Colored Satins 
De Lyon; Mervilleux and Duchess Satins; Surah Silks and Satins; Sicilienne Cords 
and Satins; Satin Suez, Satin Aida; Brocaded Silks and Satins in black, colored and 
•evening shades. 

Black and Colored Velvets and Plushes; Brocaded Velvets; Brocaded Plushes; 
Beaded Velvet Brocades. On their centre tables are displayed 

THOUSANDS OF FANCY NOVELTIES, 

Especially brought on for the Holiday trade, and too numerous to be mentioned in 
detail. 

In addition to the above they offer unrivalled assortments of 

DUCHESSE LACE COLLARETTES AND FICHUS. 

DUCHESSE AND POINT LACE HANDKERCHIEFS. 

DUDIENC LACE BARBES AND JABOTS. 

INDIA MULL TIES. SCARFS AND FICHUS. 

SILK HANDKERCHIEFS AND MUFFLERS. 

CASHMERE AND SERGE MUFFLERS. 

LADIES’ WOOL, CASHMERE AND SILK HOSIERY. 

CHILDREN’S WOOL AND CASHMERE HOSIERY. 

LADIES’ WOOL, MERINO AND SILK UNDERWEAR. 

HAND-KNIT HOODS, LEGGINS, MITTENS, NUBIAS, &c. 

PEARL, IVORY AND OSTRICH FEATHER FANS. 

LADIES’ SKIRTS IN FLANNEL, CLOTH AND SATIN. 

SILK UMBRELLAS, ALL SIZES AND QUALITIES. 

POPULAR PRICKS. 

BROS. 

3 


\ 


EDWARD H. BIGGS, 

80 East Third Street, ST. PAUL, MIM., 

IMPORTER, 

WHOLESALE AND RETAIL DEALER IN 

DRUGS, MEDICINES, WINES 1 BRANDIES 

PAINTS, OILS, VARNISHES, 
WINDOW GLASS AND PUTTY. 

And every Article appertaining to the Drug Trade. 


McCarthy & donnelly, 

IMPORTERS OF AND DEALERS IN 



Church Goods, Undertaking Goods, &c., 


54 Wabasha Street, Opposite Post Office, St. Paul, Minn . 


Foreign Books and Periodicals, Religious Articles, Statues and Paint- 
ings for Churches, Church Ornaments, Vestments, &c. Constantly 
on hand a full-supply of Coffins, Caskets, Rohes, Habits, &c., 

&c. Funerals taken charge of and satisfaction guaranteed. 

4 


D. O’HALLORAN, 

05 Wabasha Street , ST. PAUL , 

Offers to the Catholic Public, this winter, the FINEST, LARGEST 
and CHEAPEST STOCK of 

Church and Altar Goods, 

Books, Pictures and General Stationery, 

ALBUMS, 

POCKET BOOKS, VASES, TOYS, &c.. 

Ever exhibited west of New York. 

Now is a good time to Examine Stock and Ask Prices. 


HO! CHRISTMAS!! 


For HANDSOME EBONY CABINETS; EBONY EASELS; MUSIC 
PORTFOLIOS; FOOT RESTS; BLACKING CASES; FINE UPHOL- 
STERED ROCKING CHAIRS; EASY CHAIRS; BEAUTIFUL 
PARLOR SETS; EBONY, WALNUT AND ASH CHAMBER 
SUITS; SECRETARY BOOK-CASES AND WALNUT DESKS, 

AT PRICES THAT DEFY COMPETITION, 

ORDER THEM FROM, OR GO TO 

STEZES EEOS. 

The Oldest FURNITURE HOUSE in the State , 
51 E, Third Street, cor, Minnesota Street, 


ST. PAUL, MINN. 

5 


Wm. Dawson. Robt. A. Smith. 


Albert Scheffer. 


DAWSON A CO., 



SAIKT FJATJIj, - AAI1T1T. 

Collections will receive Special Attention. 



PROSPERITY, PEACE, HAPPINESS! 

■S-fS 8 *S SS'S ® £ 


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^<3s££l5a:s|§3 

FERTILITY, BEAUTY and HEALTH! 


HOLIDAY SEASON! 

1SSO and 1881. 


We are now Exhibiting a Rare and Beautiful Stock of all Goods in our Line. 



Rare and Beautiful in brilliancy and exceptional in variety and quality, embracing 

in part the following articles: 


Diamond and Cluster Ring's, Diamond and Solitaire Rings, 
Diamond Lace Dins, Diamond Studs, 

Diamond two, tliree and five stone Rings, 

Diamond Scarf Pins, Diamond Pendants, 

Diamond Pockets, Diamond Bracelets, 
Diamond Rangle Bracelets. 

The very finest class of Diamonds used in the production of all these different 
articles. We also make a specialty of a class of extra fine 
GEM GOODS in matched pairs. 


STERLING- SILVER. 

In this line is represented all the latest novelties of the leading manufactures in the 
country, embracing all the various articles adapted for elegant Wedding Goods, from 
the simplest Berry or Pie Piece to large and elegant combinations in Caskets, num- 
bering from 70 to 200 pieces. In this line we make a specialty of Gorham & Co.’s 
hand-engraved patterns, which in effect are exceedingly rich and effective, and 
superior to all others. 


7 





























U HANDSOME IS THAT HANDSOME DOES.” 

Vicar of Wakefield. 


3 



BY 


T 

DILLON O’BRIEN. 


OF 

His' 

of \y\ 


// V 

r 1 1 


V C„ 



ST. PAUL: 

THE PIONEER PRESS PRINT. 

1881 . 

ritid]. 






Widow Melville’s Boarding House. 



Chapter i. 


^RS. MELVILLE ; this was the name on the brass plate which 
ornamented the hall door of Number “48,” a private 
boarding house in Fairoaks, an orderly town of about three 
thousand inhabitants, in one of the Western States, and 
the Widow Melville, the owner of the name on the brass; 
plate, had lived in this house from childhood up to the time of her 
marriage ; indeed she w T as"born in it. As a girl she was pretty rather 
than handsome, with light-brown hair, gentle, beseeching eyes, that 
corresponded well with the soft mouth; a face that a brave' man 
might love from its very feminine weakness, and that a strong-minded 
woman would despise for the self same reason. 

Her father, an Englishman named Joseph Adams, had been a 
lieutenant in the English army, and received, during the seige of 
Sebastapol, a thrust from a Russian bayonet, and the Victoria medal- 
Returning to England invalided, a grateful country conferred upon 
him a pension of fifty pounds a year, together with the half pay of a. 
lieutenant. 

Shortly afterward he married, and after two years of housekeeping,, 
finding it rather a difficult matter to live in England on his income 
“ like a gentleman,” which means being of no earthly use to yourself 
or anybody else, he accepted a grant of land in Canada, and bade 
good-bye to friends and country. 

The poor gentleman s experience in Canada was depressing. His- 
grant, which appeared to him in England “a big thing,” was, when 
he came to take possession, rather too big a thing, but in a different 
light altogether. It was a section of land in a dense forest ; and after 
two years Lieutenant Adams found himself disputing the right of 
way with numerous stumps that still kept possession of his clearing: 


12 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


of three acres, and seemed good for at least another generation; so 
when a speculator, with an eye to the pine wood on the section, came 
along one day and made him a bid for his property, he eagerly accepted 
it, and cleared out of his clearing, with a far lighter heart than he had 
when he left his native land. 

The dense forest, and, as it appeared to him, the impossibility of 
•doing anything with it, had been a heavy weight on his mind, and 
now that it was removed the rebound of his spirits was very exhila- 
rating. Mrs. Adams too, had been, during those two 3 r ears, fully 
impressed with the belief that sooner or later she was to be devoured 
by those hungry wolves that, night after night, howled around the 
little log house in the forest. It may be fairly surmised then that if 
the speculator was satisfied with his bargain, his satisfaction did not 
equal that of Lieutenant Adams and his wife at getting rid of their 
property and the wolves. 

The question now was where they should go to. 

“ Go to the United States,” said a friend. 

“I should like to go somewhere that I could have an expansive 
view,” said the lieutenant. “I am tired of not being able to see 
farther than the length of a fallen tree.” 

“ Then go to some one of the Western States,” replied his friend. 
■“ Grand expanse, not a stick between you and the North Pole.” 

Whether or not it was this very flattering description that influenced 
■him, Lieutenant Adams came out West shortly after he had disposed 
of his property in Canada ; bought with the proceeds of his sale the 
house No. 48, with its large lot, furnished it with good, plain furni- 
ture and settled for life to read the English Army and Navy Gazette, 
and struggle with the problem of how to live on a small income with- 
out getting into debt. 

In the early days of his residence in Fairoaks, he was known as 
Lieutenant Adams, and then, as his straight military figure, with a 
single-breasted blue frock coat buttoned up to the chin summer and 
winter, became familiar on the street and the circle of his acquain- 
tance enlarged, he was promoted to a captaincy ; by the will of the 
people, “Capt. Joe.” 

He had at first protested against the title, modestly assuring those 
who addressed him by it, that he merely ranked as a lieutenant in 
her Majesty’s service ; but his protest went for nothing, and he was 
man of the world enough to fall in with the humor of those among 
whom he came to live and to accept his captaincy from them. 

As he paid his bills with great regularity, interfered not at all in 
politics, and was always affable and gentlemanly, “ Capt. Joe” became 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 15 

a great favorite in Fairoaks, a popular character, that the citizens 
were rather proud of, and sometimes pointed out to strangers — “That’s 
Captain Joe Adams, that military looking man on the opposite side 
of the street, a distinguished English officer, who has selected Fair- 
oaks as his home.” 

The year the Adams settled in Fairoaks a baby was added to the 
family circle, and Capt. Joe had her baptized Lizzie Victoria Adams. 
The captain and his wife had both passed the bloom of youth before 
their marriage, and as they had lost their first child before leaving- 
England, the birth of this bab}*- gave them unmixed joy. 

When the little thing was able to toddle about, she caused delightful 
interruption to the reading of the Army and Navy Gazette; as the 
captain on fine days marched about his front yard, with head erect 
and military step, and Miss Lizzie kicking with her tiny red shoes the 
top buttons of his single-breasted coat. Then when she was tucked 
in her bed for the night, kissed and watched until she had fallen 
asleep, what numerous plans were discussed for her future bringing- 
up and happiness : dreams, loving dreams, that the waking realities 
of life were to dispel ; yet they conferred a great deal of happiness- 
for the time being. 

Children and men find far more happiness in the anticipation of 
possessing their toys, than in the actual possession. 

It was settled, that at a proper age Lizzie should be sent to school 
in England ; but when the time came there was neither the inclina- 
tion nor the money to send her. The child was too timid, the Captain 
said, to go away from home, so she went to school with her young 
playmates, had of course her special dear friend amongst them, and 
by and by they too had their day dreams, which they told to each 
other on the green hill side, while the river beneath, toying with its 
variegated pebbles, broke into rippling laughter. 

Time sped on and Lizzie Adams had attained her eighteenth year, 
when Frank Melville, the son of a southern planter, on a summer 
pleasure tour through the Northern States, visited Fairoaks. 

He had intended to remain only a day or so, but having been intro- 
duced to Capt. Adams, the latter invited him to his house to spend a. 
quiet evening. The invitation was accepted. Lizzie sang some old 
English ballads, great favorites with her father, and the latter gave 
his guest a vivid account of the siege of Sebastapol. It was midnight 
when Frank returned to his hotel, and his first act on entering it waa 
to counteract the order he had given that he should be called in time 
for the morning train. He had evidently become interested in the 
siege of Sebastapol, and wanted to hear more about it. 


14 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


CV-! 

Chapter ii. 


“ There’s nothing half so sweet in life 
As love’s young dream.’’ 


■ O tlie poet has sung, and so young hearts will sing till the 
downing of the curtain. 

After the first evening at Capt. Adams’ house Frank Melville 
<$!i| indefinitely postponed his departure from Fairoaks, and on a 
& calm summer evening, during which “ Capt. Joe,” sitting out 
on his porch with his family and his young friend, had made his grand 
final assault on theMalakoff tower and hauled down the Russian flag, 
Lizzie Adams surrendered her virgin heart, with ail its rich treasures, 
to her southern lover. 

Frank Melville was a fine, gallant, young fellow, worthy of the 
love he had inspired. The next day he had a private interview with 
“ Captain Joe,” told him frankly how he was situated as to means 
and position, and asked him for the hand of his daughter. 

The old soldier gave his consent, not without emotion, which he 
endeavored to hide as unbecoming a veteran wearing the Victoria 
Cross — as if a piece of ribbon or a medal on one’s breast can stop 
the throbbing of the heart beneath — stipulating, however, that this 
consent was given on the understanding that the match should be 
equally acceptable to Frank’s family, and that he should be assured 
that his child should receive a loving welcome in the home her young 
husband was to take her to. In due course this assurance was given, 
and then there was nothing to prevent the naming of the happy day, 
selecting the bridesmaids and groomsmen. 

Surely, as some one has beautifully said, “the veil which hides the 
future from us was woven b} r the angel of mercy.” 

Could the gentle bride, blushing and weeping in her happiness, as 
she crossed her father’s threshold leaning on the arm of her husband, 
who was bringing her to a new home ; could she have foreseen under 
what circumstances she was to enter the homestead again, how pale 
would have become that face, now suffused with soft blushes ; how 
horror-stricken those eyes now sparkling through tears. 

Would she have turned back? No; to love and be beloved by one 
true, honest heart, even for a brief space, is worth a life’s suffering. 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


15 


The house was very lonely after the young bride’s departure. Mrs. 
Adams, in the early days following that event, often found herself 
listening for the light step that would hurry to help her in her do- 
mestic duties ; then, with a sigh, resume her occupation, and Capt. 
Adams sorely missed the sweet face that was wont to watch at the 
window for his return, and the deft hands that used to set aside his 
hat and cane. 

The old couple indeed were cheered with the thought that they 
would see Lizzie the following summer; she had promised to visit 
them then, and they were, in return, to visit her, in her southern 
home, the following year. But those promises were never fulfilled ; 
parents and child never met again. 

When the time for Lizzie’s visit home arrived she had a baby, and 
feared to risk the long journey North, and the problem of how to keep 
out of debt, which “ Captain Joe,” all through his honorable life, was 
arduously and successfully working out, caused him to postpone the 
family visit South. Thus year after year one cause or another necessi- 
tated the putting off of the promised visit for four years, and then the 
civil war broke out ; North and South stood face to face in battle array. 
Lifelong friendships, kindred ties — glorious memories of days when 
North and South stood side by side, one flag over them, one battle cry 
inspiring them — liberty — were all swept away by the tempest of civil 
war ; and the Republic lived through those dark days, only because the 
God of freedom had willed that it should not die. 

The battles, the victories, the gallant deeds of that war, are recorded 
in history, to be known to generation after generation. Its deepest 
sorrows lie in the graves of broken hearts, fast mouldering into dust, 
and the grasses and flowers overhead are dumb, giving no sign of the 
tragedies beneath. 

At an early stage of the war Lizzie’s husband had joined the Con- 
federate service. Distracted letters came from her to her parents, who 
beseeched her to return to her old home, and “Captain Joe” had 
made preparations to fetch her, when he received a letter stating that 
on no account would she leave from where she had a chance of seeing 
Frank from time to time. Both duty and affection prompted her to 
remain. As the war progressed, intercourse between the North and 
South became more difficult ; the mails uncertain, with long intervals, 
during which all communication was entirely suspended at different 
points. 

Just near the close of the war, after a gap of three or four months, 
during which Lizzie had not heard from the North, a letter with the 
Fairoaks post-mark came to her. It was from Dr. Pembroke, an old 


16 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


friend of the family, announcing the death of both her parents (of 
typhoid fever,) but a few days having intervened between the death of 
each. Lizzie read this letter in a Southern hospital, beside the cot 
where lay her dead husband ; and one of the nurses passing by a little 
after, found the poor lady lying across the cot as pulseless as the dead. 

Weeks afterward, she found her way back to her Southern home ; 
her child was there. Her child ! This was the talisman that snatched 
her back from death; a mother’s love can be stronger than death. 
Ruin, desolation, and poverty were visible in and around the house 
she had entered nine years before a happy bride. 

A tall, stately old gentleman, with uncovered head, — his white hair 
ailing over his shoulders, — came down the porch steps to meet her 
Taking both her hands in his, he kissed her pale cheek. 

“ Harry, my child,” was all she was able to say. 

“He is well, Lizzie; he and I, old Tom and his wife, are all our 
household — (he had lost his three sons in the war) — a small one, but 
nevertheless your Northern friends have made it somewhat difficult to 
keep house.” 

His voice was so changed and harsh that Lizzie gave him a quick,, 
frightened look. His face had grown hard and haggard, and his full,, 
blue eyes, that in their brave frankness had given a charm to the old 
man’s countenance in days gone by, were now sombre and cold aa 
steel. 

As he stood there, within the shadow of his desolate ancestral home, 
— the wind moaning through the trees and tossing the grey hair 
around his massive head, — still erect, he was a striking emblem of the 
proud, vanquished, ruined South, — the last of the Southern chivalry. 

Lizzie, weary, weak and tearful, felt herself shivering in this cold 
presence, when there came bounding through the shrubbery a bright 
boy, and with one bound he was in his mother’s arms. Oh, the glory* 
the healthfulness, the warmth of a young life, — the sorrowing widow 
inhaling it through the rosy lips of her boy, grew strong and flushed. 

That night, with her child’s arms around her neck, and his warm 
breath fanning her cheek, her crushed spirit revived, and she began_to 
think and plan for the future. 

She would leave this desolate South and return to the North, — to 
the home of her childhood. Death had been there too ; no living 
voices to welcome her back ; yet she felt that all the memories hover- 
ing round the old homestead would be gentle and sweet. She yearned 
for its protecting shelter, and so longing fell into a calm sleep, in 
which she imagined that the breath of her child was the perfume 
from the lilac bushes growing in front of her Northern home. 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


17 


Chapter nr. 

REALLY find it very difficult to advise you, my dear Mrs. 
Melville. This homestead sold, the sum you would realize 

S would fall very short of giving yourself and your boy an 
income, and you are so entirely inexperienced that to put it 
® into any kind of business would be too risky ; still I fear that 
you are equally unsuited to open a boarding house.” 

Thus spoke Doctor Pembroke as he sat with Mrs. Melville in the 
parlor of Number “48,” in the town of Fairoaks. 

“But, doctor, I must do something. All that is here you tell me is 
mine, and even if it would be for my benefit I cannot part with this 
old homestead ; it seems to give me a protection that no other place 
could. I have brought nothing back to it but the picture of my poor, 
dead husband, but I must do something for myself and Harry till he 
is able to do for himself.” 

“ How old is he ? ” asked the doctor. 

“ He is in his ninth year,” replied Mrs. Melville. At that moment 
Harry entered the room. 

“Come here, Harry,” said the doctor. “What would you like 
to be?” 

“ I’d like to be a soldier,” the boy replied. 

The mother placed her hands before her eyes, as if to shut out the 
horrid visions the very name conjured up. 

“ Well, my boy,” said the doctor, smiling, “you are not the regu- 
lation height yet, and when you are I hope we shan’t have much 
soldiering in this country. What can you do now, Harry, do you 
think?” 

“I can ride a horse, snare rabbits and trap foxes.” The doctor 
laughed. 

“Harry must go to school, doctor,” said the widow. “I taught 
him a little, but you may judge that it was not much, amid the fears 
and distractions of the last four years.” 

“Of course not,” replied the doctor. “Yes, Harry must go to 
school ; that’s settled.” 

“May I go to the river to fish, mother, with Fred Browne,” brofce 
in Harry. 

2 


18 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


“ I suppose you may, Harry, but be very careful.” 

“Oh, pshaw!” replied Harry. “I could swim across that little 
river over and over again;” and he was out of the house to join 
Fred Browne, who was waiting for him round the corner. 

“ He is a fine, manly little fellow,” said the doctor, “but one who 
will require a firm hand to guide him, or I am mistaken.” 

“He is truthful and affectionate,” replied the fond mother; “but, 
doctor, my poor child has been running wild on the plantation for the 
last few years, and I find him restless under restraint.” 

“Natural enough, Mrs. Melville,” said the doctor. “ But all will 
come right. Truthfulness and affection are grand points in a boy’s 
character ; no matter how he may kick over the traces, he is sure to 
get back on the track and down to his work. I do not believe that a 
truthful boy can become a bad man, unless the appetite for strong 
drink takes possession of him. Then, indeed, everything good and 
noble is likely to go overboard. But let us return to our subject — the 
boarding house project.” 

“It is the only thing,” replied the widow, “ that I can do. I will 
have no rent to pay, and tho’ the furniture in the house is plain, it is 
substantial and abundant ; there are whole chests full of linen and 
bedclothes up stairs. I want to be independent, doctor, and work for 
my living. Don’t you think I can do so by opening a boarding house 
here ? ” 

“Yes,” replied the doctor; “very many poor ladies like you, 
thrown upon their own resources, maids and matrons alike, urged by 
a brave spirit to earn an honest living, have gone into this business 
under far more difficulties, and succeeded. But have you an idea of 
what you will have to go through ? ” 

“I am not afraid to work, doctor.” 

“Oh, I am not thinking of the work: hired help can be got to 
assist in doing that. Do you know the humiliations you will have to 
undergo ? — the difficult task you will have in endeavoring to please 
people of different tempers, habits, and dispositions ? — that you will 
have to bear patiently the slang of brainless puppies, who will retail 
at your table the stale jokes about boarding house hash and boarding 
house tea; who, having jewed you down to the lowest penny, will 
sneer and scolt Decause you do not give them the board of a first-class 
hotel ; that your female boarders, dressed up in all their finery for the 
evening, will giggle, whisper, and point you out to other boarders, won- 
dering ‘why it is that Mrs. Melville cannot keep herself more tidy,’ 
when a good portion of your time has been taken up in remedying the 
untidy litter in which they left their rooms ? Then I am afraid that 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


19 


you would be greatly imposed upon, and that a great many of the 
boarding house wits would play off a very practical joke by leaving 
without paying you.” 

“ Your picture is not encouraging, doctor.” 

“ No, and perhaps 1 am a little daft on the subject, trying to make 
atonement for a past error — a misconception of character.” 

“ How was that ? ” 

“I will tell you,” said the doctor. Before I came to this State I 
practiced my profession in Michigan. I was a young man then, and 
my office was a favorite place for my friends to lounge in. Two or 
three of those boarded with a maiden lady named Flight. She was 
■certainly very unprepossessing, — tall, thin, and worn. On the hottest 
•day in summer, to look at her face, you would think she was suffering 
from cold. What stories those young fellows used to tell of their 
landlady, — of her stinginess, — her meanness. What miserable puns on 
ffier name, and what additional names besides, — Ogress, Sal. Brass, the 
Witch of Endor, being the least objectionable. Do you know, I got 
to hate this woman ; used to join in ridiculing her. Fine, manly 
work, wasn’t it, for young men ? D — n fine, — ahem, beg your pardon, 
Mrs. Melville. 

“Well, one morning one of my friends came laughing into the 
•office : ‘ Your future is made, Pembroke ; the Witch of Endor has 
.•sent for you.’ He handed me a note, which read, in a neat, delicate 
Jiand : 

‘ Miss Flight presents her compliments to Dr. Pembroke, and would 
be pleased to see him professionally.’ 

“ When I reached the house, the witch was in a high altercation 
with a boarder who was trying to sneak away without paying her, 
.^nd as I entered the hall she slammed the door on his heels and said 
fo me in not very mild tones, ‘ Come, doctor.’ 

“ We entered a back room. An old, paralyzed man sat in an arm- 
chair, propped up with pillows, before a bright fire. The room was 
scrupulously neat and cheerful looking. 

‘ How do you feel now, father ? ’ 

“ I actually started. This was not the voice I had heard a moment 
before in the hall. It was now low and gentle. I looked at the 
woman, bending over the chair so lovingly. As I live, the whole 
expression of her face had changed ! — its hard lines gone, and in their 
place a patient, sad, pitying look. 

‘ How do you feel now, father ? ’ 

« Better, Deb. I think the cough does not rack me so much.’ 

* I have brought Dr. Pembroke to see you, father.’ 


20 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOAEDING HOUSE. 


The old man bowed. 

* He has been paralyzed for years, doctor;’ she continued, ‘ but he is 
now suffering from a cold, and I wished you to see him.’ 

“ When I was about to write a prescription I found that I had 
forgotten my memorandum book. So Miss Flight left the room to 
get me paper and pen. 

“ When she closed the door I said to the paralytic, ‘You have a 
good daughter, sir.’ 

“The old man’s eyes glistened. ‘Oh, you don’t know,’ he said. 
‘ all she does for me, all she has given up for me ! God only knows 
her as she deserves. ’ 

“ And this was the woman we used to abuse, to ridicule, to slander : 
why there was not one of us worthy to tie her shoe-strings ! 

“We meet such independent, self-sacrificing women every day; we 
jostle them out of the way, as they stand huckstering with the butcher 
and market people. We see them standing on one side as Mrs. High- 
blow gives her order to the obsequious grocer, and we do not recognize 
how bravely they battle, single-handed, against the adverse currents 
of life.” 

Whilst telling his story Dr. Pembroke had kept walking up and 
down the room; he now paused opposite Mrs. Melville and said, with a 
pleasant smile, “ Have I cured you of your boarding house scheme ? ” 

“You have not encouraged me, doctor,” she replied. “But don’t 
you think that here, where my poor father was so well known and 
respected, I could get a few quiet, respectable boarders ? ” 

“Well, yes,” said the doctor; “that’s true enough, and I think I 
can get you one or two myself if you are determined to make the 
venture. I will call to-morrow, and we will talk over our arrange- 
ments. Perhaps it would be well to put an advertisement in the 
newspapers.” 

And so it was arranged. Mrs. Melville’s name appeared on a 
polished plate on the door of number “48,” and the house was soon 
known as Mrs. Melville’s boarding house. 





WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


21 



HAPTER IV. 


appeared for some time after Mrs. Melville had opened her 
II boarding house, that it would he an exception to establishments 
v of the kind. The sunlight was permitted at times to enter her 
best rooms, and beneath its genial influence, the house lost that 
cold, gloomy look so habitual to establishments of the kind. 

Dr. Pembroke kept his word and found some very nice boarders 
for the widow ; former friends too had called to see her. They were 
kind and cordial, so that in the return to her old home, where every 
object was familiar to her, and in the active life she now led, she 
found, if not happiness, at least for a time tranquility of mind. 
Happily the cares of life draw us away from the graves that open 
along its path. 

But there was one old acquaintance who evidently avoided a 
renewal of the intimacy which once existed between herself and the 
widow when they were both young girls. Kate Summers and Lizzie 
Adams had been schoolmates, playmates, inseparable as girls. Lizzie 
had confided all her little secrets to Kate and Kate as many of hers as 
she deemed advisable. In those youthful days it was an advantage to 
Miss Summers to be on intimate terms with the Adams. She was 
one of Lizzie’s bridesmaids, and at parting they had vowed eternal 
friendship in each others arms, and sealed the compact with innumer- 
able kisses. All this was sincere on the part of the bride, who was 
greatly pleased when some time after she heard in her Southern home 
that her dear friend Kate had married Mr. Browne, the richest man in 
Fairoaks, and it was a pleasant thought to dwell upon, on her sad 
journey to her old home, that she would be again near her dear 


friend. 

As a general rule, the friendships of young girls are about as lasting 
as their fashionable hats, both delightful when they are new and 
becoming, but very apt to be exchanged at short notice for a newer 
hat and a newer friendship ; nor is a similarity of tastes and disposi- 
tions at all necessary in the forming of such friendships. No two 
could be more unlike than the gentle, mild-eyed, timid Lizzie Adams, 
and the bold,gghowy, frivolous Kate Summers. Mrs. Browne, who in 
her efforts to become a fine lady, had developed into a vulgar, osten- 


22 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


tatious, purse-proud woman, was away at a fashionable resort when 
Mrs. Melville arrived at Fairoaks, and the boarding house of the 
latter had been opened some months before her return. When she 
did return and the former friends met, the pleasant anticipations with 
which the widow had looked forward to their meeting were entirely 
dispelled by the cold reception her affectionate greetingmet with, and 
it needed not the bungling hints Mrs. Browne favored her with to- 
make her understood that their former intimacy was not to be re- 
newed. 

“Mr. Browne is so particular as to our circle,” she said. This was 
not true. Mr. Browne was an honest fellow enough, immersed in 
business — not caring a fig for society, who had fallen in love with a 
young girl’s eyebrows, and found out too late that there was very little* 
else about her to admire. 

“ B}' the way, continued Mrs. Browne, “perhaps my husband can 
send some of his clerks to board with you.” 

J I 

“ Thank you,” replied Mrs. Melville, “ but my house is full. Good 
day.” She hurried off, for she felt her face burning, and knew that 
the tears were not far off. Not for “ a king’s ransom ” — kings have- 
not their old value in this age of the world — would she permit one- 
to fall in the presence of that woman. 

But although Mrs. Browne had tabooed her former friend from her 
select circle, she made several disagreeable advances to patronize her- 
She had been to England and had, parrot-like, picked up some phrases; 
of society there (“ the higher orders,” “ the lower orders,”) spoke of 
the duty of the higher orders to care for and elevate the lower, and 
was president of a society for the relief of the deserving poor. 

From the reports of the visiting committees of this society it was; 
really surprising how very few deserving poor were to be found in and 
around Fairoaks. 

“The poor you have always with you.” Oh, }'es; vagrants, tramps,, 
castaways, that the tide of life casts, all ragged, upon its shores ; such 
as those who sat by the wayside in Judea when the sinless One passed 
by and found favor in His sight. But I am speaking of your moral, 
picturesque pauper, who prefers to read a chapter in his mother’s; 
Bible to a dinner of corned beef and cabbage, and this class was 
scarce around Fairoaks, so that the funds of the society for the relief 
of the deserving poor were mostly applied for the publication of tracts 
freely distributed among the undeserving poor. 

This system worked satisfactorily, for those who applied for relief 
to the society and got tracts, seldom, if ever, returned. % 

“ It would be impossible to estimate the good our tracts have 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


23 


wrought,” said the secretary on one occasion ; a very true remark 
indeed. 

But though Mrs. Browne did not visit at Mrs. Melville’s, she called 
from time to time at No. “ 48 ” to complain of Harry Melville, whom 
she asserted was constantly leading her son Fred Browne into all 
kinds of scrapes. The two boys, almost the same age, became great 
friends ; both were wild, idle and continually getting into trouble. 
But while their methods of getting into scrapes were very similar, 
their way of getting out of them was very different. 

Fred, whose nature was weaker, less truthful and far more cunning 
than Harry’s, when brought to task for his misdeeds by his parents, 
did not hesitate, when he could do so with effect, to lay the greater 
portion of the blame on Harry. Hence Mrs. Browne’s frequent calls. 
Harry, on the other hand, always stood up to the rack ; to excuse a 
fault with a greater one (an untruth) never entered his mind. 

Truly penitent for the moment, not so much for the fault as for its 
consequence, namely, fretting his mother, he promised amendment, 
kissed her into forgiveness, and was ready for a fresh scrape. Inside 
the schoolroom he was attentive because he liked his teacher ; but 
outside his rows with other boys were frequent. Brave and unusually 
strong for his age, he never hesitated to face a boy much larger than 
himself ; hence he got worsted as frequently as he came off victorious. 
I have said that inside the schoolroom he was attentive ; but I must 
confess that his attendance was very irregular. He was a boy of fine 
parts and affectionate disposition, but thoughtless and impulsive ; one 
that required a wise, firm guide, and he had but a weak, loving one. 
Gentle love indeed can do much with the young ; it is immeasurably 
superior to rough command, but this gentleness should have firmness 
allied to it. 

You cannot collar a boy day in and day out and shake him into a 
good man, though you may make him a hard, sharp fellow, who will 
shake the other fellow when his time comes. 

The really gre&test fault in Harry Melville’s character was a love 
for idleness, so fostered by a wayward childhood and boyhood that it 
had become a second nature, a tyrant hard to shake off, by the time 
he was approaching manhood. 

He was always a great favorite with Dr. Pembroke, who cheered 
Mrs. Melville by telling her that Harry would come out all right ; but 
when he had passed his sixteenth year, was still idle, and had got into 
one or two serious scrapes, the doctor’s faith in his own prophecy 
began to be shaken. 


24 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOAKDENG HOUSE. 


“I will speak to the widow,” he said, after hearing of Harry’s 
latest trouble. “She must send him some place where he will have 
to work and take care of himself, otherwise he will go to the devil — 
and it is a pity. I can’t help liking.the young fellow.” 

And how did the boarding house at No. 48 prosper during those 
years that Harry was growing up ? 

Not very well of late. Fairoaks and its society had changed since 
Mrs. Melville’s return to her old home ; both had come to have more 
pretentious notions. Fairoaks was getting rid of— by fire, mostly, 
securing the insurance — her frame buildings, and replacing them with 
brick ones, and the circle in which Mrs. Browne moved had gone up 
several rungs higher (in their own estimation) on the social ladder. 

One of the new buildings, with bay windows and fashionable shades, 
had been opened as a boarding house, in the same street with No. 48, 
md the old-fashioned front of the latter, sadly in want of fresh paint, 
contrasted but poorly with its stylish neighbor. The furniture, too, 
had beccme shabby and out of date ; and, like her house, the widow’s 
boarders had become second-class and more exacting. Poor little 
woman, how bravely she battled just to live ; how unceasing were her 
efforts to please, and with what doubtful success. 

With what poor acting she seemed not to understand the stupid, 
ill-natured jokes the boarders indulged in at her expense. Oh, they 
knew full well that she understood ; she could not deceive them with 
that patient little smile ; their vulgar ill-nature would have no zest 
for them did they not know she felt it. 



WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


25 




HAPTER V. 


AKF AST is over at No 48, and the boarders have gone 
p ftlllji to their daily occupations. Miss Snap (spinster) has retired to 
her room and opened her desk to write a letter to a dear friend 



East, who has, as she says, her most secret confidence ; telling 


the dear friend the present interesting state of a flirtation 


$ going on between herself and a Mr. Sharfre, another boarder, 
a clerk in a lawyer’s office at Fairoaks, or, as he terms it, “ reading in 
a lawyer’s office.” 

Adolphus Sharpe always speaks of his father as a very rich man, 
who is just keeping him on a small allowance to break him in, but 
who may any day get out of his way. “ Dad has an awful short neck, 
and threatens apoplexy,” remarked Adolphus, speaking pleasantly 
and in confidence of his future prospects to Miss Snap, and conse- 
quently Miss Snap (who has been obliged for some time past to get 
the bloom of youth from her druggist, nature’s stock being nearly 
exhausted,) takes an interest in Adolphus. “ A dangerous interest, I 
fear, my dear Lydia,” she writes to her friend. 

This morning the two have been very merry at the expense of poor 
Mrs. Melville and her surroundings, — so merry, indeed, that they had 
gone from the breakfast table into the hall, laughing, where Adolphus 
had given Miss Snap a parting hug ; consequently she was in the best 
of humor as she sat down to write to her friend. 

Left to herself, the widow commences her daily task of setting 
things to rights in the parlor and sitting room. With but one servant 
to do the cooking — she cannot afford more now — she has to do all 
the housework herself. She begins her work to-day with a nervous 
excitement and hot face, for whether it is that she is more nervous, 
more weary than usual, or that Adolphus Sharpe and Miss Snap have 
been more witty and severe ; she felt their rudeness more. Ifl such a 
state of mind, the very work she is engaged in is likely to call up old 
memories, and to embitter the present by contrast. Everj r corner of 
the room, every piece of furniture had its reminiscence. She is now 
dusting the old high-backed arm-chair Capt. Adams was wont to sit 
in as he read the Army and Navy Gazette. It is in its old place, oppo- 
site the fire ; and there, too, is her own low seat, close by it. She sat 
down in the latter, resting her head on the arm of the larger one, and 


26 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


closing her eyes, she could almost imagine she felt her father’s hand 
smoothing down her hair while he read. Alas ! it had become 
streaked with grey since that loving hand had gently caressed it. 
After a little, with a sigh she resumed her work, to pause again as 
her eyes rested on the portrait of her dead husband. 

This room, now the common sitting-room of her boarders, was to 
her in those hours when she was alone, a shrine holy in its memories. 
As she stood there, the contrast of the handsome, youthful face, look- 
ing down at her from the canvas, and her own pale, worn one seemed to 
strike her, for she turned and looked into a pier-glass on the opposite 
wall ; then again at the portrait. “You loved me, Frank,” she mur- 
mured, “ when my face was fresh and fair, and you would love me 
still, darling, in the change. In heaven, my beloved, there is no 
change.” 

She gave a litte start as the door suddenly opened, and then smiled! 
as she saw who it was that entered — a tall, broad-shouldered, hand- 
some young fellow, with large blue eyes, short, crisp, curling hair, and 
a well-shaped head. In features he resembled the portrait hanging 
from the wall, but the expression of each face was altogether different. 
The calm, refined look which the limner had given to the face on the 
canvas was wanting in the other, and in its place a rollicking, 
“devil-may-care,” western look, pleasant enough to look at when 
lighted up with good humor, but growing dark and dangerous in fits 
of passion. 

“You frightened me, Harry,” said Mrs. Melville. “I thought you 
had gone down town.” 

“So I had, mother, but I met Fred Browne and some of the other 
boys, and they have made up a party to go out shooting ducks this 
afternoon, and camp out if it is too late to return home. They will 
have lots of fun, and were coming up for me. May I go with them, 
mother? ” 

“You scarcely ask my leave, Harry, lately,” replied his mother. 
“ I don’t want you to go with those wild boys, and perhaps meet with 
an accident.” 

“ Oh, pshaw ! ” he said. 

“Mrs. Browne is telling everywhere that you are ruining her sou 
Fred.” 

“The old rhinoceros,” broke in Harry; “browsing around and 
sticking her nose into every one’s affairs.” 

“I believe it is the other way,” continued Mrs. Melville. “Fred 
Browne’s father is a rich man and can afford to have his son idle if he 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOABDING HOUSE. 2T 

likes ; but, oh, my child, what will become of you if you do not learn 
to do something for yourself ? ” 

The good humored expression which it wore when he entered, left 
Harry’s face. “I did not think,” he said, glumly, “that it was any- 
great harm to go out for a day’s hunting ; and the boys are all club- 
bing together, so that it will only cost a couple of dollars apiece ; but: 
I don’t want the money now — don’t want to go.” And he left the- 
room whistling. 

The widow sat down on a sofa, and placing her hands before her 
face, wept. Presently Harry returned, saying, “I believe I left my- 
cap here; ” then in a moment he was by his mother’s side, his arret 
around her waist. 

“ Mother, dear mother,” he said, “ what is the matter ? Oh, what a. 
brute I was to fret you. I was disappointed and vexed for a moment,, 
that’s all. But I don’t want to go, and will try to do better, mother,, 
if you forgive me.” Then his fresh, red lips were pressed to hers, and 
he held her in his strong, young arms until she grew calm and 
courageous. 

“I have been nervous and worried dear,” she said as she fondled 
his hand, “and Mr. Sliarpe was downright rude to me this morning; 
and — ” 

“The white-faced whelp,” broke in Harry, “he had better look, 
out ; ” and the handsome face grew dark. 

“Oh Harry, you frighten me. We cannot quarrel with those we 
are dependent on ; but I was going to say that perhaps I took a wrong 
time to speak to you, but indeed, Harry, it was for your good.” 

“ I know it mother, you have spoiled your boy, but I will strike on 
some settled plan (he was great for planning in his repentant moods> 
that will enable me to help you. 

She had heard some such promise many a time, always with fresh 
hope. Kissing the young fellow’s cheek, she resumed her work, going 
up stairs presently and leaving him sitting on the sofa, a plan just, 
developing in his mind, when unfortunately it was all knocked of a. 
heap by the recurring thought of the proposed hunt. 

“ It is too bad, thought he, that I can’t go, its that Sharpe that has~- 
put mother so about this morning. I’ll kick that fellow some of 
these days.” Then he drove his hands into his pockets, stretched out. 
his legs and fell into a gloomy sulk. 

“Poor fellow,” mused Mrs. Melville, as she moved from room to* 
room. “ I am half inclined not to disappoint him this time, though 
I know it is wrong, very wrong, and weak in me ; two dollars he said 
it would cost him. Let me see,” and she opened her thinly-lined 


28 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


pocket book, “ I have four dollars for the milkman, I suppose it will 
do to pay him next Saturday.” She counted the four dollars two or 
three times over hesitatingly, then replacing two dollars in the pocket 
book, she hurried down stairs. This woman who had grown prema- 
turely grey in life’s battle was still a child in her warm impulses. 
She found Harry sitting where she had left him, in gloomy reverie. 

“ When did you say, Harry, that hunting party was going out ? ” 
she asked. 

“ At noon,” he answered. 

“ And when will they return ? ” 

“Perhaps to-night, but Fred Browne is bringing out his tent and 
buffalo robes in the wagon, and if it is too late to come back, they 
will camp out until morning.” 

“ Well, Harry, here are the two dollars, and you may go this time.” 

The boy’s face brightened and flushed. 

“ Oh, no, mother,” he said, “you can’t afford it. Don’t mind it, — I 
can stay at home.” 

It was but a poor attempt at refusal on his part, and when his 
mother again offered him the money, he eagerly took it, and, with his 
face all aglow with pleasure, caught her in his arms. “You are the 
-dearest mother in the world,” he said, as he kissed her. “I’ll go this 
once, but mind, mother, I’m going to turn over a new leaf, and work 
for you; see if I don’t.” 

He was soon out of the house and passing down the street with a 
-quick step, waving his hand cheerfully back to the pallid-faced 
woman, who watched him from the door. • 



WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


2£ 



CHAPTER VI. 





ffi. I M E — the afternoon of a hazy Indian-suramer day ; the scene — 


a hillside hut a short walk from the town of Fairoaks ; an old 


man sitting on a fallen tree, playing a flute, a small scarlet 
i(L cloak thrown at his feet ; and a little girl lower down the hill, 
Wf busy gathering autumn leaves from the scattered trees and 

$ underbrush around. 

Presently the girl, with her apron full of leaves, came climbing 
the hill, and as she drew near, the old man ceased playing. The 
anxious, watching expression his face assumed, and the way he turned 
his head to listen, would tell one that he was blind, although his eyes 
were open and but little disfigured. 

“ Oh, grandfather ! ” exclaimed the child, as, panting and all aglow 
from exercise, she sat down beside him. “ I have such a beautiful lot. 
I wish — ” and then she stopped. 

“ That I could see. them,” he said, with a sad smile; “ but tell me 
all about them, and grandfather will see them through his little girls 
eyes.” 

“ Oh, they are like everything. The whole hillside has changed 
since we were here last, and it is ju«t downright beautiful.” 

And so it was : with a beauty beyond the gardener’s genius, yet so 
common on every wayside when the leaves are rustling over the grave 
of summer, that we pass on our way, scarce giving such scenes a 
glance. 

The short, well-cropped grass was still green, thickly studded with 
oak brush, that shone like burnished copper, light and dark, as the 
sun’s rays and the shadows fell upon it. 

Amid this gorgeous setting was the glowing scarlet sumach, the 
russet oak, the graceful maple— with its delicate shaded leaves of 
green, pink and gold, the countless hues and dyes of autumn’s glory. 
All this, with a background of dark pine, a rapid river in front, 
chafing against the grey rocks that stood in its shallow bed and 
hiding amid the green willows that grew along its banks. 

“Like everything,” said the old man, with a chuckling laugh, 
“ what an answer ! ” 

“Yes, like everything,” repeated the little maiden, playfully tap- 


30 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


ping the back of his hand ; “ because every color in the world I have 
here in my apron at the present moment. So, grandfather, just play 
a little more while I sort these leaves and take what I want of them 
to bring home.” 

They made a pretty picture that autumn afternoon on the hillside. 
The blind man, with his sad, patient face, absorbed in his own music ; 
the child, with her plump sun-burnt hands, deftly selecting leaves 
from the pile she had gathered, and now and then keeping time with 
3ier tiny foot to the air played. 

She quickly got through her task, but the musician still played on ; 
3 ind, with her hands dropped in her lap and her e} r es turned to the 
-countenance of her grandfather, she listened in silence. 

As she did so, whether from the effect of the music or love and 
pity for the blind man, or a blending of both, her face — laughing and 
joyous a moment before — assumed a grave, spiritual look. 

With no home companions but this old man and a middle-aged 
«,unt, there was, in her every-day life, much to foster the imaginative 
and the practical. 

The constant companion of her grandfather in his walks, when the 
weather permitted, sitting beside him when he rested, as to-day, and 
played'some grand symphony of Mozart’s, the solemn music of Haydn, 
or the inspiring patriotic national airs of Himmel ; listening to some 
old weird legend that the music brought to his recollection, heard by^ 
the camp fire in those distant days when he was a soldier of the Rhine. 
The child’s nature drank in the beautiful and romantic ; brought up 
t)y a careful, thrifty aunt familiar with the struggles and self-denial 
of honest, independent poverty, taking an active part in the house- 
hold duties of their humble home, she had — child as she was — learned 
the necessity of labor, the value of industry. 

When the blind man ceased playing, the girl said : 

“Grandfather, listen ! the birds have joined you in a grand chorus 
to-day.” 

“No, no, they are only mocking my poor music. Have you got 
through your work ? ” 

“Yes,” she answered, rising up and shaking the broken leaves and 
•dust from her apron. “I have selected all I want.” 

“ Then we had better be going home,” he said, as he disjointed his 
flute. “ The sun is getting round to the west, is it not ? ” 

“Yes, and it is making the old pines not to look half as glum and 
•dark as they did.” 

“Well, give me your hand, Mina, and we will set off for home. 
Aunt would scold us if we kept her waiting supper.” 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


31 


<l Oh, grandfather, you know aunt never scolds you ! ” 

The old man laughed. “ She only scolds Mina,” he said, 

“Not much,” she answered. “ I can stand all the scolding Aunt 
gives me ; it does me good.” 

“ Just so,” he answered. “ Well, then, the good aunt who makes 
my little girl good, we must not displease by keeping her waiting sup- 
per for us ; so come along.” 

He had risen from his seat, and now stood with his face turned in 
the direction of the town, his hand slightly stretched toward his 
grand-child. 

“ Wait for a moment,” she said. Untieing her apron, she wrapped 
it round the leaves ; then donning her scarlet cloak, she placed the 
bundle beneath it and gave her disengaged hand to her grandfather. 

Hand-in-hand they passed down the hill, into the suburbs of the 
town, and on to their home, receiving friendly greetings as they 
passed along, and Mina — a great favorite in Fairoaks— many a pleasant 
smile. 

When they reached their house, the door was opened by a woman 
whose age a stranger would guess to be over forty years, although in 
reality she was not more than thirty-four or five. Hard work, not 
time, had added the other years. Her figure was angular and spare ; 
her face, with strongly marked features, only redeemed from down- 
right homeliness by two honest, grey eyes. 

“ I hope you had a pleasant walk, father,” she said, taking the old 
man’s hat and cane and leading him in to their family sitting-room. 

Her voice was sweet and low. God had not given beauty to her 
person, but to her voice, and so fitted her for her work. She was 
beautiful to her blind father through her voice. 

The room they entered was but plainly furnished, but exquisitely 
neat. Some German prints and landscapes ornamented the walls. A 
portion of the room seemed devoted to feminine work, as one might 
judge by a sewing machine and several unfinished dresses around ; but 
this work-shop stood in an alcove, and did not interfere with the tidy 
look of the room. A small table stood in a corner, on which was a 
violin case ; also a flute case, now empty, and over the table hung a 
cage with a canary, giving forth his most joyous notes. 

An arm-chair was placed a little distance from the stove, in which 
there was some fire, for the evenings were apt to get chilly, and the 
table, on which was a snow-white cloth, was set for supper. 

“Here, Wilhelmina,” said the blind man, when his daughter had 
placed him in the arm-chair, “take this flute and put in its place ; it 
idles myself and Mina, and keeps us out too long.” 


32 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


“And grandfather said that you would scold us, aunt,” said Mina, 
looking over her shoulder with a saucy smile from where she was busy 
placing some of the gathered leaves in small vases. 

“ And grandfather will be right if you do not leave those leaves for 
some other time and help me to get supper. Come, Mina.” 

When the two were in the little kitchen, Wilhelmina Tapfer con- 
tinued : “Mina, you must attend to getting the supper, while I finish 
the dress I have in hand ; and, look, little one, here is a mutton-chop^ 
just enough for father ; you and I are not to touch it, but to make 
believe, if we find him questioning us, as he sometimes does.” 

“Oh, I will ask you to help me two or three times,” said Mina, 
laughing. 

And now — while Mina is getting supper ready, her aunt busy sewing, 
and the old man thinking in his arm-chair — is a good time to tell what 
I know about the family : not very much, to be sure, but what I do 
know is good. 

Theodore Tapfer was a musician in the Austrian service when his 
eyes grew weak and he was allowed to retire on a small pension. 
Coming to America with two daughters — his. wife being dead — he 
sought employment by giving lessons in music. This brought him a 
competency, while he could attend to it, but shortly after his oldest 
daughter’s marriage he became completely blind. There is an old 
saying that “ misfortunes never come alone.” It was so in the case of 
Theodore Tapfer. His daughter had been married a little over two 
years, when she and her husband, Brune Mannlich, died within two 
weeks of each other, and their orphan child was added to the blind 
man’s household. 

It was now that Wilhelmina Tapfer, at the age of twenty, putting 
aside those dreams of love and marriage which come to all young 
girls, bravely set about her life’s work. 

She had been for some time before learning dress-making, but it 
was impossible for her now to go to the establishment she worked at, 
so she solicited work to make up at home. 

Through sympathy first, she got employment as much as she could 
do, with the care of a blind father and a baby just beginning to toddle 
around, but by the time the little one could partially care of herself 
and even be trusted to take her grandfather for short walks in the 
neighborhood of their home, her aunt had by industry, punctuality 
and moderate charges, secured steady employment, so that her earn- 
ings, added to her father’s small pension, enabled them to live in 
humble independence. 

But it was constant work for the brave woman. The blind man 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


33 


could not see the weary face that often drooped over the task the 
tired hands were busy with ; he could only hear the sweet, pleasant 
voice, and he was content. 

Sometimes Wilhelmina Tapfer, when retiring for the night, worn 
out and nervous, after a hard day’s work, thought with a sudden* 
dread, “ what if I should break down, get sick, or die ? ” 

At such times she would kneel by her bedside and pray to her 
Heavenly Father for health and strength, not for herself but for those 
He had given into her charge, then with little Mina nestling in her 
arms, her weary eyes would close in a deep, dreamless sleep, to open 
refreshed at morning’s light for the battle and the victory. 

It was not likely that a woman so faithful to duty, would neglect 
the education of her orphan niece. Mina was sent to school when 
she was of a proper age, the only break upon her regular attendance 
being, when she staid at home on pleasant afternoons to take a walk 
with her grandfather. 

After school hours she helped her aunt in the house, or went on 
errands, indeed of late she did much of the household trading, and did 
it well. 

People liked to trade with little “ Red Ridinghood,” the name which 
the color of her cloak had procured for her; liked to see her bright 
young face over the counter, and to note with amused interest the 
business air the little maiden assumed. The gravity of the grey eyes, 
and how the firm, well-rounded little chin corrected any lightness on 
the part of the pouting red lips. 

Mina was now taken from school and was learning dress-making 
from her aunt, who, with the old dread returning, from time to time, 
that sickness or death might incapacitate her from being able to 
support her father, was anxious to fit Mina for the duty as soon as 
possible. 

Theodore Tapfer was a greatly afflicted man in one sense, but 
greatly blest in another, — he had a good, loving daughter. 

Perhaps in no period of his life had he enjoyed more repose of mind 
than now when he was so helpless to provide for himself. 

It might have been otherwise had he known the incessant work, the 
long apprenticeship to toil, with never a holiday coming in, by which 
Wilhelmina was able to give him a home, but the hardship and the 
drudgery were carefully concealed from him. 

He could not see the spare figure, that work had robbed of every 
line of beauty, the face grown aged and homely before its time ; he 
only heard the sweet, cheerful voice, and with a loving fiction she had 
made the blind man believe that his small pension, which would not 
3 


84 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


have supported them for two months, was the great stay of their little 
establishment. 

During the long winter evenings Theodore Tapfer played his violin 
in'the cosy parlor, and when the birds came back and sang in the 
woods, he joined their choir with his soft-toned flute. 

Thus tranquilly the blind man journeyed on through the darkness, 
in the evening of life — on towards the light and the morning ! 


/HAPTER VII. 


§T was a dreary, wintry afternoon that Harry Melville was getting 
home from his hunt. There had been in the morning a slight 
fall of snow. The weather had taken one of those sudden 
changes that come in the fall to remind us that winter is at 
hand, after which we generally have, in the West, a long spell 
of fine weather. 

The young fellow was out of humor. The look his mother wore 
the morning he left her, the nervous tremor in her voice when she 
bade him good-bye, came to his recollection and would not leave him 
during the whole hunt. 

He had gone through many such scenes ; had frequently fretted his 
mother, had idled his time, had gone about amusing himself time 
after time when he should have been helping her, had teased and 
coaxed her for money when he knew she had none to spare ; he had 
done all this many a time without thinking much of the matter after 
he had once joined Fred Browne or any other of his companions. 

He was subject to spells of remorse, it is true, and resolves to do 
better, in which loomed up gigantic plans for making a fortune, and 
having his mother, whom the wayward fellow loved most dearly, to out- 
shine Mrs. Browne in grand equipage and costly dress ; but such spells 
were of short duration, and never bothered him when he was actively 
engaged in mischief or sport ; but all through his last hunt, in the 
midst of young and joyous companions, his thoughts were such as to 
take away all zest for the sport he was engaged in. For the first 
time in his life he saw himself pretty much as others saw him, and he 
frowned at the picture. 

To some natures the knowledge that they have passed from boyhood 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


35 


to manhood comes like a sudden revelation.' Some such feeling was 
in Harry Melville’s mind as he walked down the street on his way to 
his home, and gave to his face a thoughtful look. 

Presently there came tripping toward him a little figure in a scarlet 
cloak, the hood up and tied under the round chin, giving to the young 
face a cozy, bewitching look. It was Mina, on her way down town, to 
do some errands for her aunt. On her arm was a basket, — none of 
your make-believe baskets, but a basket made to hold things, — a 
housewife’s basket, in which tea and sugar, spices and candles, and 
many other domestic necessaries could be packed away and no one 
the wiser, when the lid was shut down, as to what was inside. 

It was sly fun to Wilson, the grocer, as he packed this basket, to 
note the grave, business face of the little maiden, as, with pencil in 
hand, she checked and priced the things put in, and the careful way 
she examined the change he gave her, before putting it away, for her 
aunt. 

Wilhelmina Tapfer did not run any book account ; what she could 
not pay for she did without. Although she had not, very likely, ever 
heard of the witty Dean of St. Paul, she agreed in his view “ that 
ready money is a great check on the imagination.” 

When Harry Melville saw who it was that was coming toward him, 
his face lighted up, and the old rollicking air came back to him. 

“ Little Red Ridinghood, I’m delighted to see you ! ” planting him- 
self right in the path before her. “ Your presence, or your cloak, or 
both together, take the chill out of this horrid day.” 

Mina looked up into his handsome face, not with a displeased look ; 
then she said, “ Let me pass, Harry, I am in a hurry to do a message 
for aunt. You have been out hunting, I see,” noticing the gun on 
his shoulder. 

“Yes,” he replied, “and had no fun. I wish I had stayed at 
home.” 

“You ought to have stayed at home,” she said, in a very decided 
manner. “If I was a big fellow like you I would be ashamed to be 
going round amusing myself, and have my mother picking up chips in 
the yard on so wet a day as this.” 

Harry’s face flushed up to the roots of his hair. 

“You are in one of your lecturing moods, little woman,” he said. 

“ Well, that’s the work I found her at when I called at the house a 
few minutes ago, with a message from aunt. I stayed a little while 
to help her, for the girl was too busy inside to do it ; and that is why 
I am in a hurry now. The green wood that was split would not light ; 
then the stoves were smoking, and your poor mother had to stand all 
the ill humor of the boarders. 


36 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOAKDING HOUSE. 


“ But I told a man to come to saw and split the load of dry wood in 
the yard.” 

“ Well, I suppose he went off hunting, like other people. Those 
awful boarders made your poor mother cry : I am sure of it, though 
she said it was the smoke that made her eyes red. I’ll never, never, 
keep a boarding house.” 

There was something so comical in the determined look that came 
to her baby face as she said this, that Harry, despite his chagrin, 
laughed outright. 

She answered his laugh with a pleasant smile, perhaps to make 
amends for the hard things she had been saying ; and, giving him a 
friendly nod, passed on. 

Harry Melville stood looking after her as she tripped down the 
street. He and Mina had gone to school together, their homes were 
near each other ; he had hauled her on his sled many a winter morn- 
ing to school when she was quite a child and he a sturdy little boy. 
They had their quarrels and making up like older lovers, and as 
Harry was the handsomest boy in school, Mina Mannlich was envied 
by many young ladies of the mature ages of nine and ten. 

A very friendly intimacy existed between Widow Melville and 
Wilhelmina Tapfer. 

In her troubles and vexations Mrs. Melville would seek the advice of 
her neighbor, the weaker nature seeking support from the stronger. 

Sometimes, too, Harry would be sent over by his mother to ask 
Theodore Tapfer out for a walk. 

The wild but warm-hearted boy always did this cheerfully, though 
on such occasions he was very apt to receive a mild lecture from the 
blind man, which he bore good-humoredly, but unfortunately never 
remembered. 

“Well,” thought Harry, as, with head bent, he made rapid strides 
for home, “what a mean, good-for-nothing fellow Mina thinks I am, 
and I suppose she is not far wrong.” 

When he reached home he found things pretty much as Mina had 
stated. The smile his mother gave him when he entered was sad ; 
the lips that pressed his young, warm lips were cold, and, whether 
from weeping or not, her eyes were red. 

“ What’s the matter, mother ? ” asked Harry. “ I met Mina Mann- 
lich on the street, and she flew at me like a little wild cat.” 

“Dear little Mina! ” said Mrs. Melville. “ We could not get the 
green wood to burn, Harry, and — ” 

“Eutleng; gcd a man to come and cut the dry wood before I left,” 
broke in Hairy. 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 37 

“He did not come, dear,” replied Mrs. Melville, “and everything 
has been going wrong on account of this sudden change in the weather, 
and Mr. Sharpe — ” 

“ Sharpe again ! ” said Harry, setting his teeth. 

“Oh, well, dear; all the boarders have been complaining, and we 
cannot blame them, for the sitting room was terribly cold and both 
breakfast and dinner were late. Bessie was busy in the kitchen and 
Mina found me in the yard picking up a few chips to help to make 
the green wood burn, in a minute she had her cloak off and a whole 
basket full of chips gathered and set by the stove in no time. Have 
you had your dinner, dear ?” 

“We had some lunch on our way in,” replied Harry. 

“ Well, I’ll get you something now, Harry.” 

“I’m not hungry mother,” he said, and then without further 
waiting, he passed out to the yard, took off his coat and went to 
work at the wood pile. 

From time to time, his mother came to the door to talk with him 
and tell him not to work so hard, bu^ the kinder she spoke the harder 
Harry worked, and by the time the shades of evening were gathering he 
had quite a pile of good dry wood cut and split. 

Then he returned to the house and went to the room his mother 
had reserved for herself, where he ate some supper. 

After this, at his mother’s request, he went to the parlor and 
endeavored to brighten up the fire in the stove, but even with dry 
wood this was a partial failure, for the chimney needed cleaning and 
did not draw well. 

Giving up the task, Harry sat by the window and was partly con- 
cealed from view by the curtain which hung down. 

By and by, the boarders came dropping in ; they were out of humor 
from their experience in the morning, and finding a poor fire before 
them now, they vented their ill humor in sarcastic remarks not at all 
complimentary to boarding houses and landladies in general. 

Two young gentlemen who were particularly indignant, “had 
method in their madness,” for they saw a good excuse for leaving 
their present quarters without paying their bills, and “going to 
pastures new.” 

Hearing their voices, ^he poor little widow hurried into the room to 
make all the apologies possible, and to endeavor for the twentieth 
time to make the fire burn, but her presence only made her boarders 
change their tactics and give, in stage whispers for her benefit, their 
opinion of the whole “shebang,” as Mr. Sharpe elegantly expressed it. 

One would suppose that the timid, anxious little woman so ner- 


38 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


vously endeavoring to excuse herself would have disarmed the flippant 
insolence of even the habitues of a boarding house, but in this 
instance it was not so ; and Mrs. Melville with a weary sigh left the 
room to bring in lights, for it was now getting quite dark. 

Harry, tired of his hunting trip, had fallen into a doze at the window, 
but was awakened by the loud, metallic laugh of Mr. Sharpe, who was 
enjoying his own wit. 

Miss Snap, too, in her attic boudoir , heard the grating sound, and 
hurrying down stairs, entered the room with a large shawl tightly 
drawn over her shoulders, and, with a little shiver, advanced to the 
stove. Touching it with the tips of her fingers, she said, “ Oh ! ” and 
then, with another shiver, looked around for sympathy. 

“ Oh, for a fire,” said Mr. Sharpe, with another laugh. 

“I knew you were saying something funny down here,” said Miss 
Snap, “ as I heard you laughing.” 

It was necessary for Mr. Sharpe to laugh when he said funny things, 
else no one would ever know that he had done so. 

“ I really do not know what is coming over Mrs. Melville,” said Miss 
Snap, “ that she can’t attend to her own business.” 

“Whisky,” replied Sharpe, “that’s what’s the matter; lam sure 
the Melville drinks.” 

These words were hardly spoken when Harry Melville, leaping from 
behind the curtain, struck Sharpe a square blow right between the 
eyes. He went down without a stagger, and striking, as he fell, his 
head against the corner of the stove, he lay senseless and immovable 
on the floor, Harry standing defiantly over him. 

“You have killed him,” said one of the young men, hurrying for- 
ward. 

Harry turned fiercely on him. “Do you want to take his part ? ” he 
asked. “Ho,” replied the other, kneeling down and lifting the sense- 
less form, “ one murder, I think, should satisfy you.” 

Murder ! the word struck a chill to the boy’s heart, and his face 
grew white; still he stood defiant, with his hands clenched, and 
glared round at the others. 

In a moment all was confusion. The screams of Miss Snap, who 
threw herself on a lounge, and in her agony kicked a deaf old lady 
off it, brought the entire household into the room. 

“I loved him, I loved him,” screamed Miss Snap, kicking wildly 
about her. “Iam not ashamed to tell it, now that he is gone, and 
there stands his murderer.” 

At that moment Mrs. Melville entered the room. A glance at the 
still unconscious form of Sharpe, who was supported in the arms of 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


39 


his friends, the blood flowing freely from a deep gash on his head, 
and one look at Harry, who slill stood where he had given the 
blow — his hands still clenched — shaking with excitement, and the hor- 
ror that was creeping over him as he thought Sharpe was killed, told 
the whole truth to the poor mother. 

“ Oh, Harry ! Harry ! what have you done ? ” she exclaimed. 

“He abused you, mother, — said you drank,” he hoarsely muttered, 
“ but I only struck him with my hand.” 

Then fearing that he might show the fear that was fast mastering 
him, he left the room to await results, with a palpitating heart. 

It is very strange how strong and calm a timid woman, whom a 
mouse might frighten, may grow in the presence of actual danger, or 
sudden calamity. The only one in that room who seemed to have any 
presence of mind, or know what to do, was Mrs. Melville. 

“Go, Mr. Simons,” she said to one of the boarders, “go at once, 
pray, for Dr. Pembroke ; if he is not at home, get Dr. Moss, — go at 
once. Here, carry him into this room, and Bessy [to the servant] get 
some water and some pieces of linen ; you will find them in the upper 
drawer of my wardrobe. Oh, thank God, he is opening his eyes ! 
There, carry him gently, and lay him on the bed.” 

And so Sharpe was borne away, all the other boarders crowding 
into the room to which he was brought, Miss Snap bringing up the 
rear and confiding several little theatrical sobs to her handkerchief. 

Mr. Simons found Dr. Pembroke just returned home, his buggy at 
the door. 

Without much delay the doctor got into it. “ You will come with 
me ?” he said to Simons. 

“No, doctor, I have another place to call at, but I will follow you 
immediately.” 

The truth was that Mr. Simons was determined to hunt up a con- 
stable and inform him that Harry Melville had killed a man and was 
trying to escape ; in fact Simons derived much more satisfaction in 
going for the constable, than for the doctor. 

Constable Tom Roache whom he met a minute or two after he left 
the doctor, was a very stupid, lazy, good-natured man, with a sluggish 
vanity — fed by the awe in which he was held by little boys — in being 
an officer of the law and a most exalted idea of the scope and impor- 
tance of his duties. 

He loved to use before an admiring crowd, some of those Latin 
phrases common in law, which he had picked up and committed to 
memory, and as he had no idea of their meaning, his application of 
them at times was ludicrous in the extreme. 


40 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


He listened to Simons in gloomy silence, as the latter told him his 
story and requested his presence at No. 48, where the murder had 
just been committed, then knocking the ashes out of his pipe and 
putting the pipe in his pocket, he told Simons he was ready for duty 
and proceeded with him to the house. On arriving at No. 48 Mr. 
Simons went in at the front door and the constable entered at the 
rear. 

Here he found Harry Melville sitting alone in the kitchen, watching 
to catch every sound in the front part of the house. 

The boy’s face if possible, grew paler as he saw who it was that 
entered. 

“ Have you come to arrest me?” he exclaimed, jumping up. 

“I have no warrant against you, Harry,” replied Roache, “and 
the coronor has not yet sot on the corpus, but if that little ferret 
Simons tells the truth, I suppose I must keep my eye on you.” 

Harry bent his head and covered his face with his hands as Tom 
Roache, rekindling his pipe, contemplated him with compassionate 
solemnity. 

Next to the law, this lazy giant admired physical strength and 
courage, and the muscular, spirited boy was a favorite of his, not- 
withstanding the many official reproofs and warnings he had found it 
necessary to give. 

“I never saw Harry Melville do anything mean,” he would remark, 
“and he’ll pitch into a fellow twice his size or age, and whip him, too. 

Harry Melville and Roache had sat opposite each other in silence 
only a short time when the inner room door opened and Dr. Pem- 
broke, Mrs. Melville and the servant entered the kitchen. 

Harry jumped up, and, catching the doctor’s hand, said: “Oh, 
doctor ! how is he ? ” 

“He will not die this time, Harry,” replied the doctor, “though 
the stove has given him a bad cut.” 

“Is he out of danger — all danger— do you think, doctor ? ” querried 
Mrs. Melville, the nervous strength called forth for a little while fast 
giving way to tear-dimmed eyes and trembling lips. 

“I can’t say that, ma’am,” replied Dr. Pembroke.” Miss Snap is 
with him, and I know nothing about the strength of his constitution ; 
but if he dies now I will be willing to swear in any court in Christen- 
dom that he died of too much Snap. She would kill me in a very 
short time, I know, if I was at her mercy.” 

A deep, chuckling laugh, and Dr. Pembroke turned round. 

“ Halloa, Tom Roache,” hb exclaimed, “ what are you doing here ?” 

“That little Simons called me in, doctor.” 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


41 


“ He did, eh ? ” said the doctor, dryly. “ Now, Harry, tell me how 
all this came about. I know I will get the exact truth from you.” 

Then Harry told him how he was dozing asleep at the window, 
when the laughter and voices awoke him to hear Sharpe say, in reply 
to some remark of Miss Snap’s, “Whisky, that’s what’s the matter* 
I am sure the Melville drinks.” “Then I jumped up,” continued 
Harry, “and knocked him down.” 

“ Quite right,” said Dr. Pembroke. “ I think I would be inclined to 
knock you down if you had not done so.” 

“I know that I have not been a good boy — not worked for mother 
as I should have done ; but I could not stand by and hear her abused 
by that scamp Sharpe.” Harry’s courage came back to him when he 
found that he had not killed his man. “ I knew it was coming to 
this.' I knew I would have to give a black eye to some of those mean, 
cowardly scamps who are always sneering and tormenting mother.” 

Another deep chuckle of mirth from Tom Roache. “I don’t see 
that I have any business here, doctor,” he said, addressing Dr. 
Pembroke. 

“I don’t think you have, Tom,” replied the other. “ But wait for 
a minute and I will bring you down town in my buggy.” 

Writing out a prescription he handed it to Mrs. Melville, saying, 
“ Send Harry to get this made up. Cut my head and put a plaster on 
it — you know, Harry.” 

“You need not be in the least alarmed, Mrs. Melville. Mr. Sharpe 
will perhaps have a headache for a day or two, and it serves him right. 
I vrill call in the morning : good night. Come, Tom. Good night 
again. 

As the doctor neared his home he said, somewhat suddenly— 

“ That boy must leave this town.” 

Tom Roache turned square round and looked full at the doctor. 
Was it possible that the majesty of the law was fooled, bamboozled 
in the person of its officer Tom Roache, that he had been laughed out 
of his duty— kidnapped into a buggy to give a criminal an opportunity 
to escape ? 

“ Doctor,” he thundered out, “ have you deceived me ? Is it a case 
oifelo de se after all ? ” 

The doctor laughed so heartily that he was wiping his eyes as he 
answered — 

“Tom 1 Oh, no; it is not. Tom Roache, you’ll be the death of 
me. A case of felo de se? Oh no, Tom ; nothing like it ; a common 
assault ! ” 

“ And battery ? ” added Tom. 


42 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


“And battery,” repeated the doctor, again laughing. “ But I think, 
Tom, that the stove should be made answerable for the battery. What 
I mean is that Harry will not do any good until he gets out of Fair- 
oaks ; he is spoiled here,” 

“Now you are saying nothing but the truth, doctor,” said his 
companion, “ and you’ll excuse me if I mistook your meaning. Let 
me down at the next corner, doctor ; it is the nearest to my house. 
Good night, and I’m much obliged to you for the ride.” 

“Good night, Tom,” answered the doctor, driving off; but more 
than once before reaching his home his jovial laugh was renewed. 


HAPTER VIII. 

f 'Tp^OCTOR PEMBROKE, on calling at No. 48 the next morning, 
found his patient much recovered, but sulky and evidently 
somewhat ashamed of himself. 

fjp? “I want to get out of this to-morrow, if I can,” he said to 
' the doctor, after the latter had dressed the wound in his head. 
“There is nothing to prevent you from going to-day,” replied the 
doctor, “ so far as your health is concerned. But had you not better 
wait for a few days, to let the discoloration get away from your eyes ? 
Is Mrs. Melville attentive to you ? ” 

“ Well, yes,” and I don’t blame the young fellow for doing what 
he did ; I blame myself. I said what I knew was false, and the boy 
was right to take his mother’s part. There now, doctor. I know you 
are a great friend of this family ; have I said enough ? ” 

The doctor shook his hand warmly. 

“You have spoken like a man, Mr. Sharpe,” he said, “like a 
gentleman, and I admire you for doing so.” 

“ You must see, doctor, how disagreeable it would be for me to 
remain in this house ; and at all events I made arrangements yester- 
day, before thi^ happened, to move when my week was out. So this 
evening I will go to my new boarding house.” 

“ Well, perhaps it is as well you should do so,” replied the doctor. 
When Doctor Pembroke left Mr. Sharpe he passed directly to Mrs. 
Melville’s private apartment, where he found Harry Melville waiting 
for him. The widow had gone out, to return within a shorttime. 

Harry Melville was dressed in his best suit ; he looked handsome 
as ever, but the usual bright, boyish expression of his countenance 



WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


43 


seemed to have given place to a thoughtful one. Within a few hours 
his face had acquired character.' 

“ Doctor,” he said, “ I want to speak to you for a little while ; you 
were always my friend, and I wish to ask your advice. But, first, how 
is Sharpe ? ” 

“ Oh, he is all right,” replied the doctor, sitting down. 

“Doctor don’t you think it would be better for me to leave this 
town and go to some other place to try and get some business or 
employment.” 

“ I do Harry, and I intended to speak to your mother about it this 
very day. I candidly tell you I don’t think you will do much good 
here, old associations and habits will be too much for you ; pushing 
you back every time you take a step forward. But have you any idea 
of where you would wish to go, or what business you would like to 
engage in ? ” 

“ Hot much, doctor.” 

“ Well, now, I’ve been studying the matter ever since last night, 
Harry. I have an old friend in New York, a broker who knows every 
one. He can get you employment in some house until you look 
round and fix upon something permanent.” 

“ It would cost too much, doctor, to go to New York.” 

“ Not much ; I would not make the proposal but that I expect you 
will allow me to lend you the money for your fare. I have been vexed 
with you Harry, very vexed, but I never lost faith in you, because you 
always tell the truth and do nothing sneaky or mean. I always said 
you would turn right side up yet, and so you will if we can get your 
poor mother to consent to part with you.” 

The poor mother did give her consent, albeit it nearly broke her 
heart to do so, but it was for her boy’s good, that was enough. What, 
matter about her suffering, her loneliness, her listening for the young 
step that made such music in her heart. Oh, she must not think of 
herself at all. So she gently moved about, making preparations for 
her child’s journey, packing his little trunk with her own hands and 
dropping sprigs of lavender and tears between the folds of his clothes. 

Mina Mannlich found her thus engaged. 

“I have brought,” said Mina, “this bunch of autumn leaves, as a 
keepsake for Harry. Will you put it in the trunk, Mrs. Melville ? ” 

“ Place it there yourself, my love,” replied the widow. 

And the little maiden, kneeling, stooped over, and carefully laid 
away her little present. 

When she arose Mrs. Melville saw that her eyes were overflowing 
with tears and clasping her to her bosom, the sorrowing mother and 
child sweetheart wept in each others arms. 


44 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


HAPTER IX. 


? 


IHE day that Harry Melville left his home for the first time, 
Wilhelmina Tapfer spent a large portion of it with his mother ; 
Cjggllp not idly, for she had brought over her sewing with her, and as 
r 5 ? she stitched away, her sensible, cheering conversation did 
much to comfort her poor friend. 

Mina, too, had been much engaged out of doors this same day, 
delivering work sent home by her aunt, so that the blind man was 
left more alone than usual. 

Very unfortunately Mrs. Browne had set apart this day for paying 
some “charitable visitation,” as she termed it, and prying into her 
poor neighbors’ affairs in general ; and still more unfortunate was it 
that Theodore Tapfer’s house lay on the line of her rounds. When she 
rang the bell, the door was opened by the blind man. 

“ How do you do, Mr. Tapfer? ” 

The blind man at once recognized her voice. 

“Wilhelmina is from home, Mrs. Browne, and so is Mina. I am 
alone in the house.” 

He held the door, expecting her to go, but she answered : 

“ It is yourself I wish to see, Mr. Tapfer; therefore I will go in.” 

He moved aside, and then followed her into the combined sitting- 
room and workshop of his home. Groping with his outstretched hand, 
he said, politely, “ Pardon me, madam, if I ask you to sit down with- 
out handing you a chair. You see I am slow at finding one.” 

“ Why, Mr. Tapfer, I am sitting,” replied Mrs. Browne, with a care- 
less laugh. 

A slight color came into the old man’s face, as, without making any 
Teply, he moved across the room to where his own chair stood, and 
sitting in it, he turned his face' toward his visitor, and waited for her 
to speak. 

“Mr. Tapfer,” said Mrs. Browne, “I am very glad to find you 
alone. Where is your daughter ? I have been planning for her good 
and yours, and I could not rest until I came to tell you my idea.” 

“ Wilhelmina is at Mrs. Melville’s. Poor woman, she is taking 
Harry’s going away sorely to heart.” 

“Yes, I hear her son is gone: the town has a good riddance of 
him.” 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


45 


Theodore Tapfer flashed indignantly. “ You don’t know that boy, 
Mrs. Browne,” he said. “He has a noble heart, and will turn out 
well yet.” 

“ Well, Mr. Tapfer, we will not discuss him now. Your daughter, 
you say, is at Mrs. Melville’s ? ” 

“ Yes, she brought her sewing over with her. Wilhelmina does not 
sit long idle.” 

“I should say not,” emphasized Mrs. Browne. “That is the very 
point I have come to speak with you on. I deem it my duty to tell 
you what I think is your duty in this matter.” 

Theodore Tapfer sat silent and wondering. 

“Do you know, Mr. Tapfer,” continued Mrs. Browne, “what a 
slave to work your daughter is ? ” 

The old man sat erect, his hands grasping the arms of the chair as 
if about to start to his feet. 

“ I know,” he said, “that Wilhelmina is industrious; so was her 
mother before her, and so are all German folks. But — slave — what do 
you mean, woman ? ” 

Mrs. Browne’s manner became at once fearfully subdued. “I beg 
your pardon, sir,” she said, “ if I have annoyed you. In the perform- 
ance of one’s duty one has often to bear insult. I am accustomed 
i to it, Mr. Tapfer; I don’t shrink from it ; I court it.” 

“I have not insulted you, madam,” replied the tortured man. But 
jet me know what you mean ? What is your business with me ? What 
plan is this you talk of for our good ? What interest have you in us ? 
Why should you meddle with us ? Have we asked anything of you ? ” 
He spoke rapidly, excitedly, which had the effect of making Mrs. 

| Browne angelically mild and cool. 

“My interest in you and your family, Mr, Tapfer,” she replied, “is 
that of a Christian woman who has duties to perform toward her 
fellow creatures. No matter how different our positions may be, Mr. 

! Tapfer, I recognize you, I assure you, as a fellow creature.” 

The blind man stirred restlessly. “Oh, if Wilhelmina would but 
come in.” 

“It is my conviction that your daughter is killing herself with over- 
work,” continued Mrs. Browne. “You can’t see it because you are 
blind ; but she is worn out, looks ten years older than she is. How 
can it be otherwise when she has to support you all, quite in comfort 
too, I am told, with one woman’s labor.” 

The blind man had fallen back in his chair, the lids of his sightless 
eyes moving rapidly, his attitude was that of one fearing a blow with- 
out any means of defense. “ There is my pension,” he said. 

“ A few dollars,” she replied. 


46 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


“ Wilhelmina says it goes a far way.” 

“That is one of the ways she has of deceiving you ; and you and 
that grandchild of yours go picking flowers and enjoying yourselves 
in idleness all day while your daughter slaves for you all. In the 
name of womanhood, I object to this.” 

The old man had changed his position, his figure was now bent 
forward, his head bowed, his sightless eyes turned to the floor. 

“ What would you have me do ? ” he asked in a subdued voice. 

Mrs. Browne took a mental canter to refresh herself. This was 
really becoming a very interesting case — one she would draw up a 
report of for the next annual meeting of the Woman’s Rights Associ- 
ation. The canter over she returned to the post of duty. 

“ Now, Mr. Tapfer,” she replied, “I believe you are coming to take 
a right view of this matter, and to understand my motives. You ask 
me what I would have you do. You mean, I suppose, what could you 
do to assist ? ” 

Tapfer nodded. 

“ You are a musician ? ” 

“ Ah, yes ; but I cannot teach now,” putting his hand nervously to 
his eyes. 

“ But you can play ? ” 

“ Old pieces for myself alone, they are my happiness.” 

“ Why not advertize to play at balls and parties ? Your misfortune 
would create great sympathy in this community, so given to frivolous 
amusements, and you would make plenty of money.” 

A hectic spot came on each side of the old man’s face. 

“I never played for dancing,” he said, “ah, I know no music fit 
for it.” 

“ But I suppose you wonld quickly learn by ear, if you had some 
one to play the airs for you ? ” 

“Ah, yes, very true ; I will think over it. I thank you, madam. I 
have been, I fear, forgetful, selfish ; my poor, good Wilhelmina.” 

The old man had risen from his chair and was now groping about 
the room, seemingly objectless, taking up things his hands touched 
and laying them down again. 

Mrs. Browne rose to go. She had performed her duty, and she 
trusted, quickened Tapfer’s sense of duty effectually. 

“ I wish you good day, Mr. Tapfer,” she said, in her blandest voice, 
“ and I hope you will think well of the suggestion I found it my duty 
to make to you. Don’t stir, it is unnecessary.” 

He had made a move toward the hall, but Mrs. Browne had the 
door open and was outside and gone before he left the room. 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


47 



'HAPTER X. 


sHEN Wilhelmina Tapfer returned from Mrs. Melville’s to 
prepare the family supper she remarked, as she bustled 
about, how silent and thoughtful her father was, she had 
little doubt but that he was thinking of his favorite Harry 
Melville and that he would feel lonely after him. 

“But it is all for the better, father,” she said as she concluded a 
touching account of the parting between the widow and her son. 
“ Harry will do well I hope where he is gone to.” 

The old man made no answer, she looked at him sharply. Some- 
thing had happened besides Harry’s going. She would find out by 
and by. 

Presently Mina said, “ I met Mrs. Browne when I was out ; she told 
me she had called here, grandfather.” 

“ So she did,” he replied. “A good woman, a very good woman, I 
believe Wilhelmina.” 

“Is she,” said Wilhelmina. Another conclusion reached, Mrs. 
Browne had said something to fret her father. Well, she would wait 
and find out all about it. 

Presently the blind man said — 

“I would be glad if Mina could go over to Mrs. Smythe’s and ask 
her to send young Karl here this evening. Is it too late for Mina to 
go out, Wilhelmina ? ” 

“Why, no, father; go, Mina. Ah, untidy one; look where your 
cloak and hat are.” 

When Mina had gone on her errand, her aunt went into the 
kitchen to cook the supper, leaving the old man in the parlor, with 
his troubled, sad face. 

“ What can father want with Karl,” Wilhelmina thought, “ that he 
should send for him right oif, and not wait till he met him or walked 


over to see him ? ” 

A pause. Then a brisk stirring the contents of a saucepan on the 
stove — a savory morsel for father— and another right conclusion 
reached at. 

“Mrs. Browne has bestowed one of her many plans for father’s 
benefit. What a pity it is that this woman cannot find something to 
do at home that would keep her there.” 


48 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


Young Karl Smythe came in the evening as requested, and after a 
little the blind man brought out his violin and asked Karl to play — 

“ I want to hear some of those pretty waltzes and other tunes you 
play at balls, Karl,” he said. 

As Karl played the blind man would at times interrupt him with, 
“ Let me try that, Karl,” and then he would play the air nearly 
perfect, returning the violin to Karl, with remarks such as — 

“ It is very easy — a pretty jingle, but nothing grand, nothing 
inspiring.” 

Mina waltzed round the room to the music, young Karl laughed 
and cried bravo, the blind man stood dejected. The livelier the air, 
the easier he found it to master, the sadder grew his face. 

Wilhelmina sat silent and attentive, studying out Mrs. Browne’s 
plan almost as perfect as if she had been in the room when that good 
woman paid her visit. 

The next morning Welhelmina Tapfer went to Mrs. Browne’s house 
and asked to see her. 

Mrs. Browne received her graciously and asked her to be seated, 
but Wilhelmina remained standing. 

“You were at our house yesterday, Mrs. Browne,” she said. 
“ What did you say to father ? ” 

“ Has he been telling you ? ” 

“ No, but I think I partly guess.” 

“Well, my dear Miss Tapfer, I felt it my duty, as a woman and a 
Christian, to point out to your father a way in which he could employ 
himself with advantage toward his own support.” 

“ What did you advise him to do ? ” 

“To hire out to play at balls and parties.” 

“ What else did you say to him ? ” 

“ I told him how worn you were with work.” 

A spasm of pain passed over Wilhelmina’s homely face, and the 
honest grey eyes flashed fiercely at Mrs. Browne. The latter turned 
pale. 

“ Why do you look at me in that horrid way,” she said, “ I spoke 
for your good, for your happiness.” 

“My happiness,” replied Wilhelmina. “Do you know what my 
happiness was ? It was to labor for my poor blind father, to feel that 
he was all dependent upon me, and still to cheat him out of the 
knowledge ; to know that I was helping him over the dark road he 
was traveling. Oh, how often I thanked heaven that he could not 
see my tired looks ; and how often, when he returned from a walk 
with Mina, his poor sightless face refreshed and cheerful, I have rested 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 49 

in his cheerfulness. This was my happiness ; this is the happiness you 
have taken from me. I know father well ; he will be ever thinking 
now that he is a burden on me — for he shall not play at your balls. 
He will say little ; but I, who can read his every look, will witness 
his unhappiness.” 

Here was an interesting case Mrs. Browne could make no notes of. 
She, so artificial, so deceptive — even to herself — so shallow in real 
feeling, so babbling in expression, stood humiliated, awed, in the 
presence of this strong, humane heart, with its pulsing arteries laid 
bare before her. 

“I am sure,” she said, in a somewhat humbled, doubting tone, 
“ that I have labored to benefit the industrious poor, to lighten their 
sorrows.” 

“What do you know of their sorrows?” answered Wilhelmina. 
“You, a trifler on the surface of life, what can you know of the 
hidden springs of their sorrows or their joys ? ” 

The storm had blown Mrs. Browne completely out to sea, her 
bearings lost far out of sight of the little artificial placid bay she was 
wont to paddle around in so self complacently, in her small patent 
humanitarian punt. She began to weep. 

The expression of Wilhelmina Tapfer’s strongly-maiked features 
changed from anger to contempt. 

“Poor, weak creature! ” she said. “I suppose you did not know 
the harm you were doing ; but it is done, and you at all events can 
do nothing to remedy it. So keep away from me and mine.” 

Without another word Wilhelmina left the room and house. 

For fully two days after this Mrs. Browne was in a subdued mood, 
but before the week was out she was in her punt again, which looked 
lovely in fresh paint and the flag of Duty flying from the stern. 



50 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


HAPTER XI. 

sat in Doctor Pembroke’s office, an open 
id, and her tears falling on it. It was a letter 
from Harry. The friend to whom Doctor Pembroke had 

ir given him a letter was in Europe ; but Harry met at the hotel 
he put up at, the skipper of a whaling vessel, just going off on a 
cruise, and he had given Harry a berth. The boy was to keep the 
skipper’s accounts, learn to keep the log, have a place in the cabin, 
and his fair share of the profits of the voyage. They were to winter 
at Newfoundland, and sail north in the spring, and Mrs. Melville was 
not to expect a letter until the return of the vessel. 

All this was told in a boy’s letter, embelished with golden dreams, 
great promises, and warm love. The conclusion was touching and 
manly: “Mother, dear, loving mother,” he wrote, “pray for your 
boy. I will return to you when I am worthy of all the love you have 
given to me, — not before.” 

“ And she would not have more than this for a whole year, or might 
be two ; perchance she would never hear more.” 

This was the thought that was crushing against her heart, and forc- 
ing out the tears as she sat opposite to Doctor Pembroke in his office 
and watched his countenance as the trembling culprit searches for 
some ray of hope in the face of his judge. 

The doctor, stunned at first at the news, quickly rallied. 

“I admire the boy’s spirit, Mrs. Melville,” he said. I went on a 
whaling voyage myself when I was a youngster ; no danger in it ; lots 
of fun and blubber. Harry will come out all right, — mark my words 
for it.” 

It is a blessed gift the strong, cheerful spirit has, to be able to 
impart a portion of its nature to the weak and desponding. 

Mrs. Melville left the doctor’s office, not feeling half so wretched 
as when she entered. 

In his rounds of visits, in the course of the same day, he called in 
to see her, and found her much calmer than he expected. Mina 
Mannlich was with her ; the little maiden doing all she could in her 
bright, calm, sensible way, to comfort the widow. She had been sent 
over by her Aunt Wilhelmina, who was to call in the course of the 
evening, after Mina would get back. 



WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


51 


But however resigned the widow might become, she was from this 
time wholly unfitted to manage a boarding-house. 

After the fracas between Harry Melville and Sharpe, there was a 
general stampede of the boarders, and within six months afterwards 
she gave up the business altogether, parted with her one servant, and 
undertook plain sewing for Wilhelmina Tapfer. 

'Wilhelmina, who proposed this plan to the widow out of pure kind- 
ness, made a great ado about it to her father. 

“Her business was increasing so rapidly that herself and Mina 
# could no longer do it, so she had to get additional help; ” but Mrs. 
Browne’s revelation had brought doubts and fears to the blind man’s 
mind, and their shadows, visible to the anxious mind of Wilhelmina, 
were continually passing over his gentle face. 

A great comfort was Mina Mannlich to Widow Melville in those 
days. Mina could make dresses now, after her aunt had cut them out, 
without any extra instructions ; so she frequently, when bringing 
work over to the widow, brought her own along also, and spent a 
great portion of the day at No. 48. 

Often in his daily visitations, Doctor Pembroke would call to see 
Mrs. Melville, to find Mina with her. The all-absorbing thought with 
the poor widow was her son Harry, and she never failed to speak of 
him during the doctor’s visits. Then the good doctor would cheer 
her up with his own healthy hopes. “ Harry will turn up all right,” 
he said during one of those visits. “ He is manly, truthful, and affec- 
tionate. You don’t think that he will forget you ? ” 

“ Oh, no, no, doctor ; but the danger.” 

“ Danger,” repeated the doctor, “ where is your trust in Providence, 
Mrs. Melville ? Do you not know that He who walked upon the 
waters, and whom the winds obeyed, can save your child from danger 
out upon the sea as easily as here in your parlor? ” 

Mina generally sat silent and busy with her sewing during those 
conversations between Mrs. Melville and the doctor ; but now, as he 
chanced to look at her, he met her eyes,— bright and intelligent, fixed 
on his face, her sewing lying in her lap, her red lips partly open, and 
.the round, firm little chin asserting itself. 

“There is one believer,” said the doctor, smiling and nodding over 
to the little maiden. Mina smiled and blushed, and then resumed her 
work. Presently a tear dropped upon it, — the baptism of her faith in 
God’s providence, never through life to forsake her. 


52 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


‘HAPTER XII. 


sINTER passed, and spring — ever a new revelation from God 
|||§fg — returned. The flowers quickened into life beneath the 

warmth of its breath, the birds came back and sang praises to 
its beauty, and nature, awakening from death, moved over 
the earth with a young, joyous face. 

Theodore Tapfer had failed during the winter. Wilhelmina said it 
was because he was shut up in the house, so Mina was taken from her 
work to take him out to walk every fine day. “Bring him where 
he will hear the birds, Mina,” said Wilhelmina Tapfer. “ Romp and 
play, and make him laugh as he used to.” And then she sat down to 
do double work, her own and Mina’s. But her reward came not to her 
as of old. The blind man could no longer be got to loiter in the 
woods or on the hillside. He was always anxious to get back, saying 
to Mina constantly, “We have gone far enough ; we had better return, 
Mina, so that you can help your aunt. She works too hard.” 

Then they would return soon, much to Wilhelmina’ s disappointment, 
the old man’s step languid, his face unrefreshed ; and a bitter, bitter 
feeling would rise up in Wilhelmina Tapfer’s heart against that good 
woman Mrs. Browne. 

Before the leaves had again become variegated on tree and shrub, 
Mina was not on the hillside to gather them, for Theodore Tapfer lay 
on his bed of death. Without pain, or any defined sickness, he had 
turned his sad, dark face to the wall, and was dying. 

It was midnight. Wilhelmina, working all day and now sitting up 
in attendance on her father, nodded in an arm-chair close by the bed. 
The stillness in the house made the ticking of the clock seem quite 
loud. 

The eyes of the blind man were closed. Suddenly they opened wide, 
and a joyous, wondering look came to his face. 

“Wilhelmina, Wilhelmina,” he said, in a strong voice, “I see! I 
see all that is beautiful ! ” She was at his side in a moment, leaning 
over him. 

“ Kneel down, my good child,” he continued, “ until I give you my 
blessing.” How many 3-ears had gone by since he had called her 
child ? Not since she sat upon his knee — a child. 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


53 


Wilhelmina knelt, and the blind man, stretching out his hand 
placed it upon her head, and his lips moved in prayer. 

After a little, when Wilhelmina raised her head, the hand fell upon 
the counterpane of the bed. Theodore Tapfer had passed away, 
giving his good child a father’s blessing. 

Wilhelmina attended to all the details of her father’s funeral ; made 
her own plain, black dress, and then resumed her daily work. She 
had made no demonstration of grief, and the neighbors thought her 
rather heartless — “though, to be sure, the old man must have been 
rather a drag on her.” 

Late in the fall a letter arrived from Harry Melville. So sad a 
letter. He was alive, that was all ; still this was a great deal to his 
poor mother, who had almost despaired of ever hearing from him 
again. 

On her homeward trip, with a profitable cargo, the “ Saucy Polly,” 
the vessel he shipped in, was wrecked on the inhospitable shores of 
Belle Isle, wihch lies like a black serpent at the head of the Malabar 
coast, and though all hands were saved, the entire cargo was lost. 

From the Malabar coast, Harry had made his way to Newfound- 
land and wrote his letter in the house of a fisherman, who had given 
him shelter and employment. 

It would have been a great comfort to Mrs. Melville, if she could 
now write to her son, but like a great many foolish young fellows of 
his age, Harry, in over- wrought self condemnation and unhealthy 
heroism, resolved not to send his address home, lest his mother should 
importune him to return, or as in his present plight, send him money 
she could badly spare. With the sanguine assurance of youth, he 
never supposed that any change could occur at home, but that every 
thing would go on as usual, until fortune permitted him to return. 

Six months more elapsed and another letter from Harry. He and a 
young shipmate were in San Francisco on their way to the mines. 
“ He would work hard to make some money his great expectations 
had come down to a modest sum, “ which would allow him to return 
home.” 

The closing sentence of the letter gave Mrs. Melville great comfort. 

“ I am in first rate good health, mother,” wrote Harry, “ can work 
all day, but never forget that I am a gentleman, and that my mother 

expects her son to act like a gentleman.” 

“ Good,” said Doctor Pembroke, handing back the letter Mrs. Mel- 
ville had given him to read, and in which there were many warm 
remembrances to the doctor. 

“ Good ; have faith Mrs.' Melville, Harry will return to you, and you 


54 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


will have reason to be proud of him. A young fellow with confirmed 
good principles ; what is there to fear for him ? Be proud of your 
son, Mrs. Melville ; thankful for him, though you should never look 
upon his face again.” 

The poor widow required to have faith to support her in the dreary 
time coming, when no news of Harry reached her, and makeshift 
poverty was her portion. 

Hot but that she had friends who would be willing to assist her ; one- 
friend always anxious to find out how he could do so without hurting 
her feelings ; but with a sensitive pride, she shrank from all assistance 
she was not in a position to pay back ; turned and re- turned her 
black dress which held out wonderfully ; lived as best she could, on 
the few dollars she earned from Wilhelmina Tapfer ; was very poor 
but independent. 

And how was it with the brave, hard-working Wilhelmina ? In all 
outward appearance after her father’s death she remained the same - r 
the same homely face bent over her sewing ; the same honest grey 
eyes looked the world squarely in the face ; the same active, industry 
kept her independent. 

But strange to say, after a little, work began to tell on her. Her 
strongly-marked features seemed to lose character, she complained 
often of pain in her chest, and when she rose from her sewing, fre- 
quently pressed her hand to her side. 

The truth was she had over- worked herself during nor father’s life 
time. The great object of her life to make his declining years 
tranquil, had, in a measure, been thwarted by the impertinent inter- 
meddling of a foolish woman— that was the first blow she received — 
then with her father’s death passed away her great incentive to work,, 
the reaction came, and with it the debility. Yet she held on bravely, 
not working as of old, no need of it now, giving much attention to 
instructing Mina in her trade. Ever thoughtful for. others, she made 
it a point that Mina should have plenty of exercise in the open air. 

Mrs. Melville no longer did her sewing at home, the three— the two 
sad-eyed women and the blooming maiden — sewing and cutting in the 
parlor we have already made mention of as made up in part for a 
work room. It remained the same after the old man’s death. Wil- 
helmina’s sewing machine in the alcove close by the window, the 
blind man’s chair in its old place, with the home-made rug for the feet 
spread before it. 

Sometimes while busy with her needle, Wilhelmina would look 
over to where the empty chair stood ; after doing so she would tell 
Mina to get her hat, and either send her on some errands that would 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 55 

keep her a considerable time out, or make her take some young 
companion out for a walk', or ramble on the hillside. “ She was so 
accustomed to it with her grandfather,” Wilhelmina remarked to 
Mrs. Melville. 

So passed two years, during which Wilhelmina Tapfer grew feeble, 
rallied, grew feeble again, until at length she lay on her bed of death, 
her life’s battle coming to a close. 

Sickness had refined her features, her voice weakened was still 
exquisitely sweet, and her grey eyes now unnaturally bright, scintil- 
lated with intelligence. 

“ Go, love,” said the dying woman to Mina, who had just opened 
the window to let in the fresh morning air to the room, “ Go, love, to 
Mrs. Browne, and ask her, with my respects, to come to see me. Bring 
her with you if you can, for there is no time to spare, and I must see 
her. When she comes, Mina, show her up, and leave us alone.” 

In half an hour after Mina said to her aunt — 

“ Mrs. Browne is here.” 

“ Let her come in, and leave us alone,” said Wilhelmina. 

Mrs. Browne entered the room and approached the bad. She was 
not accustomed to look upon the dying, and Wilhelmina’s bright eyes 
— now unnaturally large — and wasted features frightened her. She 
grew deadly pale. 

The dying woman marked the frightened look and gave her thin 
hand to the other to reassure her. 

Mrs. Browne rallied. 

“You sent for me,” she said. “I would have come before if 1 
thought you would see me. What can I do for you ? Do you want 
consolation ? Shall I read for you ? 

Wilhelmina made a gesture of dissent; 

■* That is all over,” she answered. “ I hope I have made my peace 
with my God. I have asked him to forgive me as I forgive others. 
I had a bitter feeling against you in my heart ; it is gone. I forgive 
you, and ask your forgiveness. 

The visitor was greatly moved. 

“I thought I was doing right,” she said, “ and — ” 

With a gesture of her thin hand, Wilhelmina interrupted her. 

“ It is Christian forgiveness I want to have between us,” she said, 
“ that neither requires explanation nor excuse. Stoop down and 
kiss me.” 

Mrs. Brown stooped as directed, and kissed Wilhelmina’s lips. As 
she did so she shuddered. 

“ Good-bye,” said the weak voice, “ send Mina to me.” 


56 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSJL 


Silent and awe-stricken, Mrs. Browne left the room. 

The night of that day, the clergyman who had been in attendance 
on her, Mrs. Melville and Mina stood round Wilhelmina Tapfer’s bed. 
Calling them by name she bade them good-bye ; then, smoothing the 
front of her hair with both hands, she placed the palm of one on the 
back of the other, put both under her head, as one often sees a child 
doing when weary of play, and going to sleep. 

One long-drawn sigh and Wilhelmina Tapfer slept too, to awake in 
heaven. 


Chapter xiii. 

WILL come and live with you, Mrs. Mellville, if you will have 
me ; we can help each other.” 

So spoke Mina Mannlich in her own quiet, thoughtful way 

' i f r to Widow Melville, as she sat in the parlor of No. 48, a few 
days after Wilhelmina’s death. 

Mina was dressed tastefully in black ; black became her. Some- 
times it has a very soothing effect upon grief, when a fashionable 
woman knows that black becomes her ; but Mina was not fashionable, 
and indeed whatever color she wore seemed at the time to become her 
best. 

“My love,” replied Mrs. Melville, “it would be altogether too 
dreary for you here, you are young, Mina, and should live where there 
are yoling people. I am not fit company for you, or indeed for any 
one.” 

“You must not put me off on that score, Mrs. Melville ; if I did not 
prefer to live with you, I would not have spoken. If you reject me it 
must be on your own account not mine ; my wish is to be here, no 
where else.” 

Mrs. Melville went over to her, kissed her, and as she did so said : 
“ My love, having .you with me is all the happiness I will have.” 

So it was settled. Mina made her home with Mrs. Mellville, and 
they “ pooled their earnings.” 

There never was such a mite of a pool since “ pools ” and “ rings ” 
came to trouble the world. 

It could not be expected that; Mina would earn as much as her aunt 
formerly did, or retain to any great extent, her aunt’s customers. 

Fairoaks too about this time got a crushing set back. It had grown 
to its present proportions with the most positive promises and san- 




WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


57 


guine hopes that a projected railroad, the building of which was a 
foregone conclusion, was to pass right through it. Several surveys had 
been made and all hit plump against Fairoaks, so that almost every man 
in the town who owned a corner lot, had made minute calculations over 
and over again as to the sum he would charge the company for a site 
for its depot. 

But all this prospecting, hoping and calculating came to naught in 
a very silly way. 

When the new railroad was fairly on its way to Fairoaks one of the 
directors visited the town and got a tough beefsteak for his supper 
at the hotel. This brought on a fit of indigestion, from which he 
suffered during the night. 

Coming down in the morning, in a very ill humor, he ate his 
breakfast, and waited around for some time, expecting that the lead- 
ing citizens, knowing he was in town and what a big man he was, 
would call on him. But they neglected to do so, and the indigestion 
told him that their not calling on him was an intended slight, so he 
shook the dust of Fairoaks from his feet, and at the next meeting of 
the board he clearly showed that it would be for the advantage of 
the company to leave Fairoaks about three miles out in the cold, and 
build a town of their own. 

Great was the indignation of Fairoaks at this want of good faith. 
When the new town, three miles east of Fairoaks, was actually laid 
out and the first house put up, the citizens of Fairoaks held protracted 
indignation meetings, and resolution after resolution was passed, amid 
the wildest excitement. 

Shortly after this some of the movers of the resolutions commenced 
moving to the new town and putting up buildings. Even the houses 
of Fairoaks caught the infection, and went moving off ; and the next 
thing known of them would be that they had settled down in the new 
town of Tomkins — named after the director to whom Fairoaks had 
given indigestion — rejuvenated with paint. 

In fact the majority of the well-to-do citizens of Fairoaks moved 
to Tomkins, giving the pretty town a deserted look, and reducing the 
business so much that employment became very slack and wages low. 

In this way Mrs. Melville’s property, had she wished to part with 
her old home, became almost worthless. Broken-spirited at not hear- 
ing from Harry, she could do but little ; and in her sorrow and distress 
Mina Mannlich became a daughter to her, her stay and comfort. 

Good, sensible little Mina— never sulky, never boisterous, but calm, 
cheerful and hopeful. Surely God had sent you to the poor mother, 
sorrowing, waiting on the shore for her ship to come sailing into port. 


58 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


‘HAPTER XIV. 


is Christmas Eve — the short day is drawing to a close ; the 
calm, frosty air reverberating with the music of sleigh-bells, 
togf Boys and girls who have not waited for Santa Claus to come, 
A) are hauling sleds along the sidewalks (regardless of the heels 
*4 of the pedestrians,) new sleds loaded with parcels continually 
falling off ; the stores are crowded ; everybody is laughing and shaking 
hands with every other body. For a brief time care is put in the back- 
ground, and good humor is the order of the day. 

Men whose whole lives, and almost every thought, are devoted to 
business, leave their, offices and counting-rooms early this afternoon, 
travel from store to store, and as the shades of evening are falling, 
enter their houses clandestinely, their pockets and arms filled with 
paper packages, which are quickly hidden away by smiling mothers. 
By and by Santa Claus will claim all these things, and, loading his sled 
with them, will whip his antlered steeds up to house-tops, and descend- 
ing, through flues and stove-pipes, fill all the little stockings that have 
been hung up in expectation of his visit. The sun has moved over to 
the pine trees, and they send their tall shadows trailing along the 
scintillating snow that covers the hillside. 

Down the western slope speeds the orb of day — a glowing ball, and 
as it dips beneath the horizon the sky becomes all aglow with gold, 
purple and amber light. 

The light fades away, the pines become a black indistinct mass, and 
the snow lies cold, shadowless and ghastly upon the hillsides. 

Widow Melville sits in the old family parlor of No. 48. She has 
changed within the last few years; her hair is quite grey and her figure 
more fragile. Yet she is not old, nor does she look old ; her gentle 
face is smooth, calm and sweet ; but, oh, how hopeless in expression. 

Hope belongs to the young and strong of heart. 

The sleigh-bells are merry out in the street, so are the children. 
There has been a snowball war going on, and now that it is over the 
boys are calling out to each other and hurrying off in twos and threes, 
the crisp snow sounding beneath their quick, steps. One noisy little 
fellow, as he passes by the window, makes the widow start ; his voice 
is so like what Harry’s was. Harry, her boy ; she has thought of him 


\ 

WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 59 * 

all day. Christmas-time — it brings so many memories. She dreamt 
last night she held him in her arms, a little child. Oh, the sorrow of 
awaking to And them empty ! 

The boys and the sleds have left the street, and the noise has given 
place to silence outside. 

ThS fire burns low ; the cold of the room rouses the widow from a 
long reverie. She looks up, surprised ; the room has grown quite 
dark. 

Wearily she rises to light a lamp. A jingling of sleigh-bells up to 
the front gate ; and then they stop. A voice calls out “all right,” -the 
gate swings open, a man’s step on the crisp snow along the walk 
leading to the hall door. 

Trembling in every limb, with a sudden pallor overspreading her 
face, her hands pressed against her side and her eyes wildly open. 
Widow Melville stands in the middle of the room. There’s life or 
death for her in the next two moments. 

The door opens. 

“ Mother ! ” 

Life, life ! Her ship has come in. 

“Little mother,” says Harry Melville, lifting her in his arms. 

Her arms are entwined tightly around his neck and her lips pressed 
against his. She does not faint, but, as of old, grows strong as she 
feels the healthy breath of her boy warm on her face. 



60 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


HAPTER XV. 

* 

■ E R first wild joy subsiding into a sense of exquisite happiness, 
as the tidal wave leaves the fresh odor of the sea upon the 
shore it recedes from, Widow Melville sat in the old family 
parlor of No. 48, her son’s hand clasped in hers, and her 
hungry eyes feeding upon every feature of his handsome sun-browned 
face. 

With Harry Melville it was different. The happiness of coming 
back “with glad tidings” was for the moment clouded by the 
change he witnessed in his old home. From his mother’s simple 
answers to his questions he realized how hard her struggles had been 
and how assuredly she would have long since succumbed to them but 
for the energy and love of Mina Mannlich. 

He recognized now the great error he had committed in not giving 
his mother an opportunity to correspond with him. 

While fortune frowned upon him, while his life was but a battle for 
daily bread, won by hard toil, it was natural enough that he should 
not see this mistake in its true light, and when good fortune came to 
him he lost no time in hastening back to share it with her. 

“How was it,” he said, “ that I fooled myself with the idea that 
all was going on here just as usual ? And you never got the letters I 
wrote to you from the mines in California ? ” 

“ Never, love.” 

“ Well, no matter,” said Harry rising and imprinting a kiss upon 
his mother’s forehead, “ it is all over now ; I have come back to care 
for you and to love you as well as any fond mother was ever loved. 
Hut where is this dear little Mina Mannlich, who has been to you a 
son, daughter and every thing ? ” 

“ She is gone out to buy some little things for Christmas.” 

“ Pooh, I wish she would come in, she knows nothing of providing 
for such a Christmas as this one is going to be. And you must tell 
me, mother, who have been kind to you, that I may go and thank 
them. Our good friend Efr. Pembroke is well you tell me, that’s good 
news.” 

“ He always said you would return Harry.” 

“ Ihe brave old fellow,” said Harry, rubbing his hands and looking 
cut of the window. “ I wish this little Mina would come back.” 



WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


61 


“ Mina, too, always cheered me,” said Mrs. Melville, “ by the perfect 
confidence she had in your return.” 

li Dear little Mina,” said Harry, “ always such a good, sensible little 
thing. 

Mrs. Melville smiled ; it was evident that Harry thought of Mina as 
a child still. 

_ Click! The gate has opened and swung back. “Quick, Harry,” 
says Mrs. Melville, “ hide, here she is.” 

Harry jumps behind the parlor door, when little Mina comes in he 
will catch her in his arms, but when a tall, graceful girl enters, his 
courage fails him. 

Mrs. Melville, her face all flushed and smiling, meets her. One 
glance, and Mina says, clapping her hands, “you have heard from 
Harry?” 

“No.” 

“Then he is here,” says Mina, turning quickly round as Harry 
emerges from his hiding place and catches both her hands in his ; then 
he sees the sweet face of the little Mina of old looking up at him as 
she says, “ Oh welcome, welcome, Harry, I knew you would return.” 
Harry’s courage comes back to him, and for a moment he holds her in 
his arms and impresses a kiss upon her forehead. 

An hour after, Harry, unannounced, entered Doctor Pembroke’s 
parlor. As he stood at the door, smiling, the doctor looked toward 
him. “ Harry Melville ! by all that’s glorious ! ” he exclaimed, jump- 
ing up and upsetting the chair he had been sitting on. “ Harry come 
back right side up ; I knew it, I knew it. Welcome, my boy, welcome. 
Why, stand at arms’s length, and let me look at you. Aye, success, 
manhood, and honor, I read in your face, Harry. What a happy 
Christmas for my poor friend. Sit down, sit down, and tell me every- 
thing.” 

“Not to-night, doctor,” replied Harry, “ for I have a long yarn to 
spin. After knocking about for five years, luck turned, and now 
myself and partner, who has been with me all through, have a good 
paying claim in Leadville.” 

“Leadville,” repeated the doctor; “I ttynk I have heard some- 
thing about it.” 

“ Of course you have ; it is the new El Dorado. Our claim turns 
out richer every day, but I only waited to put a little money together 
to hurry home, not a day too soon, I find, doctor.” 

“ No, my boy, not a day too soon, but just as soon as you could, I 
have no doubt ; and such a happy time to come, too.” 

“ Ah, that reminds me,” said Harry, “I was near forgetting, I am 


62 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


going to play Santa Claus to-night, doctor, and must be off, after you 
grant me a favor.” 

“ What is it, my boy? You know I can’t refuse you, Harry, I afn 
so glad to see you, — so glad to know that I was not mistaken in you.” 

“Will you eat your Christmas dinner with us to-morrow, doctor ? ” 

“ Indeed I will ; be off now, and get the turkey. But look, sir, 
don’t you go buying Christmas presents for Mina Mannlich, for I 
intend that girl for myself,” and laughing, and shaking hands con- 
tinually, Doctor Pembroke accompanied his young friend to the hall 
door. 

There never was such a ridiculous, happy Santa Claus as Harry 
Melville on this Christmas Eve. When he left Dr. Pembroke’s house 
he went to the nearest livery stable, and getting a horse and sleigh 
drove around to different stores buying all kinds of Christmas gifts for 
his mother and Mina. If his selections were not very judicious, the 
variety was most abundant. Nor did he forget the substantiate for the 
Christmas dinner, which left Mina’s humble preparations all in the 
shade. 

Of course wherever he went he met old acquaintances, who recog- 
nized him, or to whom he made himself known. They were all glad to 
see him, asked him a hundred and one questions, and by the time he 
and Widow Melville and Mina appeared in church next day it was 
known all over Fairoaks that Harry Melville had returned home, dame 
rumor setting down his fortune at a rouPd million. 

What a proud, happjr woman was Widow Melville that Christmas 
morning, as, leaving the church leaning on the arm of her handsome 
son, she received the hearty congratulations of friends and neighbors, 
and what a scene of hand-shaking Harry had to go through to be sure. 

Always popular as a boy, his popularity now as a successful man and 
a good fellow “who put on no airs,” grew so immense during the 
holidays that it was proposed he should be invited to give a public 
lecture descriptive of his adventures. This is the great safety valve of 
American enthusiasm, and every intelligent American citizen is sup- 
posed to be able to give a lecture at the shortest notice. 

Accordingly a committee, headed by Dr. Pembroke, waited upon 
Harry and tendered to him a formal invitation. He would have 
declined, for the idea appeared to him most ludicrous, but that the 
doctor whispered to him, “ Accept, Harry, for I have a piece of news 
I will give you to tell them, which will make your lecture a perfect 
success.” 

“ But, doctor, I never made a speech in my. life.” 

“ No matter, just tell them of your adventures as you have been 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


63 


telling me, and with my news coming in at the end, believe me, you 
will make a great hit.” 

Accordingly, with much misgiving, Harry Melville accepted the 
invitation ; and when, a few evenings afterwards, he appeared on the 
platform, and was introduced by Doctor Pembroke, he was greeted 
with a round of applause from a full house. 

It is easy to please people in a mood to be pleased, and that was the 
mood of Fairoaks on this evening. 

He commenced by telling them how glad he was to get back to his 
old. home, and beautiful Fairoaks ” [loud applause,] and then went 
into a racy description of his adventures since he left, sometimes 
exciting their sympathy, and then again their mirth. 

Toward the close of his remarks he spoke of the changes which had 
taken place in the town since he left, and the growth of the town of 
Tomkins, within three miles of them. Fairoaks held its breath to 
listen. 

“ It has sprung up, my friends,” said the speaker, “ like a noxious 
weed from the foul hot-bed of 1 bad faith.” [A round of applause. 
Fairoaks always knew that Harry Melville was a bright fellow.] “ It 
has a railroad, beginning nowhere, and going nowhere.” [Fairoaks 
shook its sides with laughter at Harry’s wit.] “But, my friends, I 
have glorious news for you,” continued the speaker. “You will par- 
don my good friend, the chairman, if he has held it back for a few 
days, in order to give me the pleasure of telling it to you. Fairoaks 
is going to have a railroad, — none of your little cross-roads, running 
south and north, — but a main line, connecting with the East and run- 
ning direct West, until it laves its terminus in the sparkling waters 
of the Pacific. The company is formed, the directors elected, and a 
large portion of the stock subscribed for.” 

Then, indeed, Fairoaks rose upon its feet, and the hall shook with 
wild applause. The band struck up “Hail Columbia,” and amid 
cheers and waving of handkerchiefs our hero made his bow, to give 
place to Doctor Pembroke, who confirmed Harry’s statement by a 
business statement of the new enterprise, confessing that he had kept 
the news secret for a few days in order to give his young friend an 
opportunity of telling it. 

Fairoaks went home jubilant that night, with Harry Melville elected 
her “favorite son.” 

The next day was calm, bright, and bracing, with diamond fringes 
of hoar-frost heavy on the trees, as Mina Mannlich took her seat 
beside Harry for a sleigh-ride, widow Melville watching them from 
the parlor window of Number 48, with a pleased and far more know- 


64 


WIDOW MELVILLE’S BOARDING HOUSE. 


ing look than one would have expected to find on^the^little woman’s 
' face. They drove out of town, and on to the road skirting the hill 
where they had so often played as children. Harry drew up'close to 
the pine trees. 

“Here is our old playground, Mina,” he said. “How cold and 
lonely it looks.” 

“ Yes,” replied Mina ; “ poor grandfather’s log seat is hidden in the 
snow.” 

“ When we were children, Mina,” continued Harry, “ I loved you 
with a child’s love ; now, as a man, I love you a million times more. 
Will you love me, Mina, and be my wife ? ” 

She did not answer in words, but taking her warm hand from her 
muff, she placed it in his and looked frankly and trustingly into his 
eyes. And that was all the wooing that passed between them, but 
it will suffice, we prophecy, for a long life of weddedjhappiness. ; 



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